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BY MORRISON HEADY 

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Southern Methodist Publishing FTouse. 

1884. 



Entered, accordin" to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, 

By the Book Agents of the Methodist Episcopal Church, Soitth, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


PREFACE. 


(7 OME one has said that inasmuch as the Preface to a book is the 
^ last thing that is written, it ought to be the last that is read. 
I suppose that some readers prefer to omit the Preface until they 
have read the book, for many writers. Lord Lytton among the num- 
ber, really destroy the illusion of a work of fiction by specifying the 
conditions under which it was written. A certain amount of faith 
in the reality of the things recorded is, to many minds, essential to 
true enjoyment of the story. 

However the case may be, I prefer that the reader of this volume 
should read these lines of mine before he proceeds farther. The 
author of this little book is both blind and deaf! For many years 
he has been absolutely blind. He has utterly lost the sense of 
hearing also; and whilst he speaks with singular clearness, and 
with some modulation of voice, he can receive no communication 
from his fellow-creatures except through an alphabet which he car- 
ries upon his hand ! Every word must be spelled letter by letter. 

Thus deprived of two of his senses, it is a marvel that he is able 
to write at all. That he has written a book of more than ordinary 
interest I am sure the reader will decide when he has read it. 
There are passages of true poetry scattered here and there, and 
some descriptive scenes that will not suffer by comparison with those 
of the best of living authors. Under other circumstances, I would 
exercise my editorial prerogative, and change the form of some of 
his expressions; but the style of Mr. Heady is peculiar: it is his 
own, and the merit of originality should not be denied to him, even 
in those rare instances in which he breaks away from the trammels 
of recognized laws of language. 


( 3 ) 


4 


Preface. 


I am sure that the knowledge of the infirmities under which this 
author writes will secure to him a lenient spirit of criticism, whilst 
it inspires admiration in view of the great excellence of his work. 
Not a line, not a word of complaint against the Providence that has 
afflicted him — not the slightest allusion to his personal disabilities — 
will be found anywhere in this volume. The spirit of the writer is 
cheerful, to the verge of gayety itself. He has a keen sense of the 
ridiculous, and exhibits a quiet humor which is couched in quaint 
and striking phrases. 

How thankful ought we to be, to whom the gracious God has 
given the use of all our senses! Should we not stand reproved in 
the presence of this blind and deaf man, who uses for the benefit of 
others the means that he possesses, whilst we, enjoying all of God’s 
bounties, have made so little use of them? This work is a sermon 
to the despondent, complaining spirit, and a word of vigorous ex- 
hortation to the slothful man. May this moral of the book leave its 
record for good in the heart of every reader ! 

W. P. Harrison, 

Book Editor, M. E. Church, South. 

Nashville, Dec., 1883. 


INTRODUCTION. 


EAELY twenty years had now elapsed since Daniel Boone had 



l\ spent that memorable twelve-month all alone in the depths of 
the boundless wilderness ; yet was Kentucky still the Hunter’s Para- 
dise, or the land of the Dark and Bloody Ground, just as the wild 
adventurer or peaceful laborer might happen to view it. In the 
more central regions, it is true, a number of thriving settlements 
had already sprung up, and by this time — 1789, or thereabout — were 
quite too populous and strong to apprehend any further serious moles- 
tation from their Indian neighbors. But between these points and 
the Ohio River lay a wide border of debatable land, where the rest- 
less savages still kept up their hostile demonstrations, which, though 
less bloody and wasting than at an earlier period, were yet sufficiently 
frequent and harassing to keep the white settlers in perpetual dis- 
quietude and fear. 

Sometimes different settlements would unite their forces into strong 
parties of from fifty to two hundred riflemen, when a dash would be 
made across the river and the war carried for a week or two into the 
enemy’s country. But as the Indians, with their characteristic wari- 
ness, had usually timely notice of the approaching danger, and would 
abandon their villages for the more secure shelter of the forest, the 
white invaders could do little more in tlie way of vengeance and 
intimidation than burn the deserted towns and level the corn-fields 
to the ground. A brief interval of quiet would sometimes follow 
these raids; but it happened not unfrequently that the pioneers would 
hardly be back to their several stations, disbanded, and fairly at their 
labors in the field, when there again was the Indian war-whoop 
ringing along the periled border as melodiously as ever, and the 


6 


Introduction, 


pillaging, murdering, scalping, and burning going on in the good 
old orthodox fashion the pesky red ravagers loved so well. 

What greatly aggravated this distressing state of things, Kentucky 
was still but a district of Virginia, hence powerless to use to the full 
extent the means of self-defense which otherwise had lain within her 
reach ; while the seat of government was so remote from the scenes 
of disorder that tlie mother State could succor her infant settlements 
scarcely more than had they lain on the other side of the Kocky 
Mountains, instead of the Alleghanies. Thus trammeled, Kentucky 
could do little more than, like a tethered bison, butt at the dangers 
which year in and year out beset her on every side. To be sure, con- 
ventions composed of her best men, and having for their object her 
erection into a separate State of the Union, had been for the last 
three years, and for the next three years continued to be, as frequent 
as camp-meetings — quite as demonstrative too, and noisy, and quite 
as much to the purpose, so far as concerned the object in view. 
Why, does not beseem us here to inquire. Finally, just as the dan- 
ger was over and gone, and the last band of hostile Indians that ever 
raised the war-whoop in the land of the “ Dark and Bloody Ground ” 
had been driven across tlie Ohio, Kentucky was untrammeled, and suf- 
fered to rear her bleeding front among the mighty sisterhood of States 
— an independent, sovereign part of the independent, sovereign whole, 
as the phrase should go, until the great rebellion should call for new 
constructions and clear definitions. Thenceforth for twenty years 
the fiery lines of war receded fitfully northward, till stayed at the 
Battle of the Thames, quenched in the life-blood of the heroic, the 
high-minded, the hapless Tecumseh, 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter I. page 

How Big Black Burl Figured in the Paradise 9 

Chapter 1 1. 

How Little Busliie Figured in the Paradise 17 

Chapter III. 

How Big Blaek Burl and Bushie Figured in Each Other’s Eyes 26 
Chapter IV. 

How Somebody was Lost in the Paradise 39 

Chapter V. 

How Grumbo Figured in the Paradise 46 

Chapter VI. 

How Big Black Burl Figured on the War-path by Day 52 

Chapter VII. 

How Big Black Burl Figured on the War-path by Night 60 

Chapter VIII. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in a Quandary 67. 

Chapter IX. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in Ambush 73 

Chapter X. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in the Fight 81 

Chapter XI. 

How Little Bushie Figured in tlie Fight 90 

Chapter XII. 

How Big Black Burl and Grumbo Figured After the Fight 99 


8 


Contents. 


# 

Chapter XIII. page . 

How Big Black Burl Figured in his Triumph 109 

Chapter' XIV. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in Oratory 117 

Chapter XV. 

How Big Black Burl Sewed it Up in his War-cap 127 

Chapter XVI. 

How Big Black Burl Figured on the Peace-path 136 

- ’ Chapter XVII. 

How the Glory of his Race Figured in his Rising 147 

' ' Chapter XVIII. 

How the Eagle and the Lion and the Big Bear Figured in the 

Great North-west 154 

Chapter XIX. 

Hoav Big Black Burl Figured at the Death-stake 164 

Chapter XX. 

How Kumshakah Figured in the Light of the Setting Sun. . . . 174 
Chapter XXI. 

How the Glory of his Race Figured in his Setting 180 


-^BURL 


Chapter I. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in the Paradise. 

(7 IX feet six he stood in his moccasins, yet seemed not 
^ tall, so broad he was and ponderously thick. He had 
an elephantine leg, with a foot like a black-oak wedge; a 
chimpanzean arm, with a fist like a black-oak maul ; eyes as 
large and placid as those of an ox ; teeth as large and even 
as those of a horse ; skin that was not skin, but ebony ; a nose 
that was not a nose, but gristle ; hair that was not hair, but 
wool; and a grin that was not a grin, but ivory sunshine. 
Such was the outward man of Big Black Burl. 

Brave as a lion, deliberate as a bear, patient as an ox, 
faithful as a mastiff, afiectionate as a Newfoundland dog, 
sagacious as a crow, talkative as a magpie, and withal as 
cheery and full of song as a sky-lark. Such was the inward 
man of Big Black Burl. 

Built up and limbed as just described, our hero, as you 
may well imagine, must have been a man of prodigious 
bodily strength. To be sure, a tall, supple, well-knit, athletic 
white man like Simon Kenton, for example, might, in a 
wrestling-match and by some unexpected sleight of foot, have 
kicked his heels from under him and brought him flat on 
his back with ease. But keeping him there would have 
been an altogether different matter. That would have taken 

( 9 ) 


10 


B URL. 


Simon Kenton, Daniel Boone, and Benjamin Logan, all men 
of uncommon bone and muscle, and all upon him at once; 
and even then he would have tumbled and tousled them so 
lustily as at last to force them from sheer loss of breath to 
yield the point and let him up. 

The station, in and around which our colored hero was 
wont to figure, w^as one of the most exposed points along the 
northern border, and, being the rendezvous of many of Ken- 
tucky’s boldest hunters, was looked upon by the more inte- 
rior settlements as their bulwark of defense against incur- 
sions of the Indians. Now, be it known that in the numer- 
ous skirmishes which took place in that quarter between the 
Reds and the Whites, Big Black Burl played a rather con- 
spicuous part ; proving himself for deeds of warlike prowess 
a signal illustration of African valor — a worthy representa- 
tive, indeed, of his great countryman Mumbo Jumbo, the 
far-famed giant-king of Congo. In testimony whereof, there 
were the scalps of his enemies taken by his own hand in se- 
cret ambush and in open fight, and which, strung together 
like pods of red pepper, or cuttings of dried pumpkin, hung 
blackening in the smoke of his cabin. 

Scalps! Your pardon, Christian reader; but the truth 
must be confessed, bald as it is, and worse than bald. It 
was the fashion of the day: the Reds took scalps and the 
Whites took scalps. It were, then, hardly fair in us to find 
fault with the Blacks for doing the same, especially as they 
could neither read nor write nor cipher, nor had been 
taught the absolute truths of any creed wLence, as a natural 
consequence, proceeds that profound fixedness of belief which 
needs must make itself manifest in the persistent exemplifi- 
cation of every Christian virtue. Had they enjoyed these 
inestimable advantages, the Blacks — depend upon it — would 
have denied themselves so barbarous a luxury, and set a 
more Christian example to the unchristian Whites then 


B URL. 


11 


dwelling in the Paradise. The glory of such a manifestation 
was reserved to the nineteenth century, when the lovers of 
the great brotherhood of man should discover and proclaim 
to the listening earth the latent saint inherent in the nature 
of ebony, from Ham, the favorite son of Noah, down to Un- 
cle Tom, the best man that ever lived. 

In the corn-field, barefooted and shirt-sleeved. Burl was like 
the patient, plodding, slow-paced ox ; but let the alarm-cry of 
“ Indians ! Indians ! ” ring along the border, and in a trice, 
with moccasins on feet, war-cap on head, rifle on shoulder, 
tomahawk and hunting-knife in belt, he was out upon the 
war-path — a roaring lion, thirsting for scalps and glory. 
Indeed, so famous did he in time become for his martial 
exploits as to win for himself among Whites a distinguished 
title of “ The Fighting Nigger;” while among the Beds, by 
whom he was regarded as a sort of Okeeheedee — half man 
and half devil — he grew to be known as “ The Big Black 
Brave of the Bushy Head.” When out on his “Injun” 
hunts, the Fighting Nigger usually chose to be alone. His in- 
stinct told him — and that monitor rarely spoke to Big Black 
Burl in vain — that he must not presume too far upon that 
fellowship into which, in virtue of his great achievements, the 
White hunters had condescended to admit him ; lest famil- 
iarity, which breeds contempt, might incur him the risk of 
being snubbed, or thrust out altogether as an impertinent 
intruder, who had forgotten where he stood in the social 
scale. Whereas, by the general observance of this prudent 
policy, not only should he win additional commendations 
from his White superiors for additional deservings, but se- 
cure to himself the undivided honor of the scalps — the tro- 
phies of victory — taken by his own hand in battle. For, 
colored though he was, with a nose inclining neither to the 
Koman nor Grecian, our hero showed that he cherished a 
genuine, therefore jealous, love of glory. In this respect. 


12 


Burl. 


we may liken the Fighting Nigger to such godlike speci- 
mens of our race as Alexander the Great; to Napoleon the 
Great; or, perhaps more fitly still, to Mumbo Jumbo the 
Great, the far-famed giant-king of Congo. 

But if there was one thing in the Paradise that Big Black 
Burl loved more than scalps and glory, it was his little mas- 
ter, Bushie — or, as the name had been written down in the 
Good Book, some eight or nine years before, Bushrod Rey- 
nolds, jr. Bushrod Reynolds, sr., the father, and Jemima 
Reynolds, the mother, were natives of the Old Dominion, 
whence they had migrated but a few months prior to the birth 
of their little son; Bushrod, with his whole worldly estate 
across his shoulder, in the shape of rifle and ax ; Jemima, with 
her whole paternal inheritance close at her heels, in the shape 
of an unshapely, gigantic negro youth, destined in after years 
to win for himself among the Red warriors of the wilderness 
the high-sounding title of “ The Big Black Brave of the Bushy 
Head.” With brave and cheerful hearts, which the pioneer 
must maintain, or sink, they had gone to work, and cutting 
out a broad green patch from the vine-inwoven forest, had 
erelong, in the midst of the sunshine thus let in, built them 
a rustic home. Here, in the due course of nature, a playful 
little pioneer made his appearance, whom they bundled up 
in red flannel and christened Bushrod, and called Bushie — ■ 
Burl’s household idol. 

Now, as a hunter and Indian fighter, Bushrod Reynolds 
had few equals, even in the Paradise — a land prolific be- 
yond precedence of the heroic in that line. Hence it nat- 
urally followed that he should take the lead of the other 
pioneers, who made Fort Reynolds — as in compliment to him 
the station was called — their place of refuge from the incur- 
sions of the Indians, or their rallying-point for repelling the 
invaders. Thus on a certain day it so befell that an In- 
dian chase was started near Fort Reynolds — a band of the 


B URL, 


13 


Red - marauders having made a bloody, burning pounce 
upon the settlements the previous night, and now, loaded 
with booty and scalps, were making all speed for the Ohio 
River, to throw that broad barrier between themselves and 
danger. 

The chase had been kept up for several miles, and the pur- 
suers as yet had failed to catch a glimpse of the fugitives. 
Swifter of foot than his comrades. Captain Reynolds had im- 
prudently, perhaps unconsciously, pushed on far in advance, 
when on a sudden he found himself waylaid and set upon 
by four or five of the savages, who, bolder than their fellows, 
had dared to be the hindermost and cover the retreat. These, 
having caught sight of their foremost pursuer, and marking 
that he ran quite alone, had agreed among themselves to 
■waylay and capture him ; a prisoner being a more coveted 
prize than a scalp, since, while yet alive, he could be both 
scalped and roasted. But he resisted so desperately, dealing 
about their heads such ugly blows with the butt of his rifle, 
as quickly to convince them that he was not tO' be taken 
alive ; and aware that the rest of their pursuers should soon 
be upon them, and exasperated by the bruises he had given 
them, they shot him down on the spot — nor turned to renew 
their flight till they had scalped him, though still alive and 
conscious. The Red dastards were yet in sight when the 
other hunters gained the spot, where they found their leader 
wounded and dying. With a commanding gesture, he 
sternly bid them forward, nor mar the chase for him, who 
had but a few moments to live. Fortunately, it so chanced 
that on the present occasion Big Black Burl was with the 
White hunters; therefore they left him to minister to his 
dying master, and again pushed on in hotter, fiercer pursuit. 

For many a weary mile of bush-entangled forest and 
grass-entangled glade, of rocky dell and precipitous hill, the 
chase for life and death went on — nor ceased till it had 


14 


B URL. 


brought pursued and pursuer to the banks of the broad 
Ohio. Here they who had dared to be the hindermost found 
themselves reduced to desperate straits, whether to fight or 
swim — their comrades, unmindful of them, having pushed 
off in all the canoes, and being by this time far out upon the 
river. Needing but a glance to tell them where their chances 
lay, with a loud yell of defiance, they leaped from the high 
bank into the deep stream and swam for dear life. The in- 
stant after, the rifles of the White huntei’s rang out from 
among the trees along the shore : there was a stain of blood 
upon the water, and the next moment they who but now 
had stemmed the current with desperate sinews floated life- 
less with it — all who dared to be the hindermost. 

Meanwhile, the faithful Burl had borne his wounded mas- 
ter to the banks of a forest brook which ran hard by, and 
had set him down, reclined against the trunk of a tree. 
Then he took his powder-horn, having emptied its contents 
into his ammunition-pouch, and filling it from the stream, 
gave his master to drink — the clear, cool, sparkling water, 
so refreshing to the tired and thirsty, but to the wounded 
man sweet and grateful beyond expression. When he had 
drained the flask and revived a little, that hapless hunter 
thus addressed his slave : “ Burl, you have ever been faith- 
ful to me. Have I been as kind to you?” 

A big sob was the only answer, but it came from the 
depths of the heart, and said “ Yes ” a hundred times. 

“Then, be faithful still. You have a brave heart and a 
strong arm, and to your support and protection must I, in 
some sort, leave my poor wife and child. Then give me 
your word, your solemn promise, that you will be as faithful 
to Miss Jemima as you have been to me; and that you will 
take good care of her fatherless boy, till he be old and strong 
enough to shift for himself, and for his mother, too. Ho 
you give me your promise?” 


B URL. 


15 


“0 master! ” Burl at length sobbed out, “it ain’t much a 
pore nigger kin do fur White folks in dat way; but what 
I kin do I will do, an’ won’t never stop a doin’ it.” Here, 
with a blubbering expression of grief, the poor fellow broke 
down. 

“Your hand upon it, my good old boy,” whispered the 
dying hunter, his breath now almost gone. “Bid Miss 
Jemima and dear little Bushie good-by for me, and carry 
them my dying blessing.” 

In pledge of the promise, never to be broken. Burl took 
the hand that was now powerless to take his, and held it 
till death had fixed its answering grasp and the hunter was 
gone to find another paradise. Then he laid his master’s 
body upon the streamlet’s brink, to wash away the blood. 
How gently the huge hand laved the gory locks and dashed 
the soft water into the dead, pale face 1 It was a stern, rug- 
ged, weather-beaten face but the light of the last loving 
thoughts still lingered upon it, lending it a beauty in death 
which it had never known in life. This part of his pious 
duty duly done, then tenderly in his mighty arms he took 
up the precious burden and laid it across his shoulder to 
bear it to the distant home. Through the fast lengthening 
shadows of sunset, through the glimmering shades of twi- 
light, through the melancholy starlight, through woods, 
woods, woods, he bore it, till the lamp that always burned 
at the little square window, when the hunter was abroad in 
the night, was spied from afar, telling that the faithful, lov- 
ing heart was waiting and watching as she should never 
wait and watch again. 

Burl stepped softly over the low rail-fence into the yard 
and laid his master’s body upon a puncheon bench which 
stood under a forest-tree directly in front of the cabin. 
Having composed the limbs of the dead, he stole with noise- 
less tread across the porch to the cabin door, at which he 


16 


B URL. 


softly knocked with his knuckles, but holding it fast by the 
latch-handle, lest it should be too suddenly opened. Straight- 
way a quick step was heard approaching the door from with- 
in. The wooden bolt slid back with a thump, the wooden 
latch w’ent up with a click, but the door remained shut. 

“ It ’s nobody but me. Miss Jemimy ; nobody here but me. 
You ’s awake, is you?” 

“Yes, Burl, I ’m awake,” answ^ered a gentle voice within; 
and again the latch went up with a click. 

“Not yit, Miss Jemimy, not yit. I said dare ’s nobody 
here but me; but did n’t ’zacly mean what I said. You ’s 
awake, now, is you — wide aw^ake?” 

“ Yes, Burl, I am wide awake, and have been all night 
long. But why do you ask? And why do you hold the 
door so fast?” And now there was a tremor of alarm in 
the gentle voice. 

“Den, put out de light. Miss Jemimy; O put out de 
light ! ” and the great sob w^hich shook the door told the rest. 

In sw^eet pity we shall refrain from dwelling further upon 
the scene. But as Burl stood out there in the night and wit- 
nessed the widow’s anguish, and heard the wail of her father- 
less child, from that heart w^hence had ascended to heaven 
the promise never to be broken there rose a terrible oath 
that never from that day forward, while he had life in his 
heart and strength in his arm, should an. opportunity for 
vengeance slip his hand. How' faithfully that oath was kept 
full many a Red man’s scalp, which hung blackening from 
his cabin beams, but too plainly attested. 


Chapter H. 

How Little Bushie Figured in the Paradise. 

Bushie, my boy, you can’t go to the corn-field to- 
IX. day,” said Mrs. Reynolds to her son of nine years old, 
one fine May morning, about two years after the sad event 
recorded in the foregoing chapter. The little fellow had 
been teasing his mother for two or three hours to let him go 
to the field where Burl was plowing corn, knowing full well, 
as every only child does, the efficacy of importunity. 

“ But, mother. Burl is singing so big and glad out there, 
and I should so love to be with him. And I should so love 
to watch the squirrels running up and down the trees and 
along on top of the fence; and the little ground-squirrels 
slipping from one hollow log to another ; and the little birds 
building their nests ; and the big crows flopping their wings 
about the limbs of the old dead trees. And then, too. Burl 
would be — ” 

“ Let Burl go on wdth his singing,” interrupted the mother ; 
“and let the squirrels go on with their playing; and the 
birds with their nest-building; and the crow’S with their 
idling about the limbs of the old dead trees. All this is very 
nice, I know, but hardly worth the risk you must be at in 
getting there to enjoy it.” 

“ But, mother,” urged Bushie, “ Burl would be so glad to 
see me sitting up there on top of the fence, just where he 
and old Cornwallis would be coming out at the end of the 
row. I know just ’zacly what he ’d say, the minute he sees 
me : ‘ I yi, you dogs ! ’ ” 

2 


( 17 ) 


18 


B URL. 


“Yes, and somebody else might be glad to find a little 
white boy sitting up there on top of the fence,” rejoined 
the mother, with a warning look. “Somebody who would 
steal up from behind, as soft as a cat upon a bird, and before 
knowing it, there! you would find a big red hand clapped 
over your mouth to keep you from screaming for help. 
Then, hugged tight in a pair of red arms, cruel and strong, 
off you ’d go through the woods and ov^ the hills and across 
the Ohio to old Chillicothe, there to be made a wild Indian 
of, for the rest of your days, if not roasted alive at once. 
Only this morning. Captain Kenton, on his way from Lime- 
stone to Lexington, dropped in at breakfast-time, and told 
us that he had seen fresh Indian signs in the woods not more 
than five miles from the fort. And, Bushie, my boy, have 
you forgotten that only this spring Burl shot a panther in 
the woods between here and the field? And that only last 
winter he knocked a bear in the head with his ax, at the 
big sink-hole spring in the middle of the field? And that 
only last fall he trapped and killed that terrible one-eyed 
wolf in the black hollow just beyond the field?” And see- 
ing her little son opening his mouth and fetching a breath 
for a fresh effort, the mother, with more decision, added: 
“No, Bushie, no! Play about the fort as much as you 
please, but go to the field to-day you must not, and you shall 
not. There!” And with this she clapped his little coon- 
skin cap upon his head, and ramming it down to his ears, 
bid him go and hunt up the other children and play at 
home, like mother’s good boy. 

Now, Bushie loved his mother dearly, even tenderly, for 
a juvenile pioneer, especially at meal-times and at nights; 
the fort, too, in bad weather, he liked well enough. But on 
Burl, between meals, and on the woods and fields, in fine 
weather, he fairly doted. The weather on the present oc- 
casion was as fine as the heart of a healthy, growing, advent- 


B U EL. 


19 


iiroiis boy could wish for reciwation under the open sky — 
it being, indeed, the last day of May, which, as nobody ever 
makes a holiday of it, is always perfectly delightful. There- 
fore was he strongly tempted to give a snapping pull at the 
apron-strings and make for sweet liberty — a thing he was in 
the habit of doing about once a week, when the keenest 
switching and the liveliest dancing that one could wish to 
witness would follow, sure as fate. To do our urchin hero 
justice, however, he rarely yielded to the temptation without 
making some considerable effort to resist it; efforts such as 
oldei*s transgressors are apt to set down largely to their own 
credit in their private accounts between self and conscience, 
vaguely hoping thereby to bamboozle somebody besides 
themselves — perhaps the recording angel. So, this morning, 
he hunted up the other children, as his mother had bidden 
him, and made a manful — nay, des2)erate — effort to be sportive 
at home ; but the little fort, within the shelter of whose wood- 
en walls had been their home ever since that melancholy 
night two years ago, had never seemed to him so dull and 
lonesome. The hunters and field-laborers, belonging to the 
station, were all abroad, and the other children seemed as 
little inclined to play as himself. 

Finding that quiet amusement was not likely to come of 
its own accord, Bushie w^as minded to draw it out by a little 
gentle persuasion, and to this intent challenged the tallest 
boy of the company — taller than himself by a head, though 
not so broad — to cope with him in a boxing match. Hav- 
ing already tried that game several times and invariably 
come off with a savage griping in the pit of the stomach, 
the tall boy made it a point just then to hear his mother’s 
call — though heard by no one else — which answering, he 
w’alked off briskly, under press of filial obedience, to see 
what was wanted. As if hoping to force what would not come 
of its own accord, or by persuasion, Bushie now laid unau- 




20 


Burl. 


thorized hands on Grumbo’s tail, and giving it a cracking pull, 
got his finger bitten ; ditto, then, on Toni’s tail, and giving it a 
cracking jerk, got his leg scratched. Evidently, quiet amuse- 
ement at home to-daj^ was a consummation quite out of the 
question, however devoutly to be wished. So, he gave it up as 
a moral achievement beyond his present resources, and with 
the feeling of a boy who though he had failed in the discharge 
of duty had- yet endeavored w^ell, he went and stood in the 
gate-w^ay of the fort, which, as it directly faced the distant field, 
was just the place to give the Tempter a fair chance at him. 

The sky — how sunny and blue it bent above him ! The 
w^oods — how' shady and green they rose before him! The 
little log fort — how dull and lonesome it lay behind him! 
The little log grist-mill down there on the banks of the river 
at the foot of the hill — how tiresomely it went on creaking 
and humming and droning, forever repeating, “What a 
pity! what a pity! what a pity!” or, “Clip it, Bushie! clip 
it, Bushie! clip it, Bushie!” according to the tune one’s 
fancy might chance to be singing at the moment. The 
Tempter was creeping upon him apace. The melodious 
strains of that powerful voice — how cheerily, sweetly they 
come resounding through the echoing woods, growing more 
and more distinct as the singer neared the hither end of his 
furrow ! The distance was too great for Bushie to distinguish 
the words of the song ; but to his longing ears, the burden 
of it seemed to be something very much to this effect; 

“Come, come, come, Bushie, come! 

Burl a’ plowin’ in de fiel’, 

A singin’ for his little man to come.” 

Here the Tempter crept up close to him and whispered in 
his ear: “Don’t you hear him Bushie? He’s singing for 
you. Clip it! Panthers, bears, wolves, Indians! Pshaw! 
They ’ll never dare to come a-nigh you, with that voice ring- 
ing in their ears. Clip it ! Ain’t he singing for his little man 


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to come? Clip it ! I say. To be sure your mother will switch 
you well for running away, but who minds that? It’s all 
over in the shake of a sheep’s tail, and by the time you ’ve 
rubbed your back and legs a little, eaten your supper, and 
said your prayers, you ’ll be feeling just as comfortable as 
ever. Clip it, I say; clip it!” 

Bushie could endure it no longer. So, after a short, one- 
sided debate betw^een the good of him and the evil of him — 
the evil allowing the good but a half-say in the matter — our 
little white hero formed the bold design of making a sudden 
sally from the fort and surprising our big black hero in the 
open field. First, though, he must make sure that the coast 
was clear — i. e., that his mother was too busy about her house- 
hold concerns to notice him and put her foot on his advent- 
ure. So, going back to the house, he peeped in at the door 
and reconnoitered. Finding the chances rather in his fa- 
vor, he returned to the gate, whistling as he went, and oth- 
erwise making a big pretense of being perfectly satisfied 
with his present surroundings, which, as there Avas nobody 
to be hoodwinked by it, was strafegem Avasted. But no 
sooner did his foot touch the great oaken sill than with a 
sheep-like jump he had cleared his skirts of the gate, and 
noAV across the open clearing, in the center of which stood 
the fort, he Avas clipping aAvay Avith a swiftness perfectly 
marA^elous in one of his age. Splendidly done, my fine 
rogue! How the mother of a Avell-ordered family of pre- 
cise boys and prim girls AA^ould like to have the mending of 
your morals — i. e., the sAvitching of your skedaddling young 
legs — this fine morning! 

Gaining the covert of the Avoods unobserved, he struck 
into a bridle-path Avhich ran winding amongst the trees and 
grape-Aunes toAvard the field, where he soon subsided, first 
into a dog-trot, then into a brisk Avalk, Avhich he maintained 
for the rest of the AA^ay Avith long and guilty strides. When 


22 


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he was come to the fence which divided the woods from 
the held, with squirrel-like nimbleness he climbed up and 
perched himself on the rider, or topmost rail, just where 
his black chum and old Cornwallis should be coming out 
at the end of the furrow. 

Perhaps it were well to take advantage of the present 
moment, while we have him so conspicuously before us, to 
draw a life-size portrait of our little hero — which, however, 
at first glance may seem somewhat larger than life, the 
subject being uncommonly well grown for a boy of his age. 
His body and limbs are as round. Smooth, tight, and hard 
as those of a buckskin doll ; the materials used in their con- 
struction being of the most substantial description, and con- 
sisting chiefly of Johnny-cakes, hominy, venison and other 
wild meat, with as much milk, maple molasses, and pump- 
kin-pie as the unsettled nature of the times would admit. 
His eyes are blue and bright, large and wide open — such as 
can look you full in the face, yet without boldness or im- 
pertinence. One would naturally suppose that a boy who 
was in the weekly habit of breaking away from apron-string 
control, and getting a whipping for it, ought to have long, 
narrow, half-shut eyes, of some uncertain color, which, 
though they can stare boldly enough at your boots, buttons, 
or breastpin, can never look you full in the face, like those 
big blue ones we have up there before us. His hair does 
not fall in clustering ringlets over his ears and around his 
neck, as we usually find it in nice, interesting little boys 
w^ho figure in story-books ; but it is pretty enough, being of 
a dark, rich brown, as glossy as watered silk. His nose is 
a good one, though at its present stage of development 
showing rather too much of the pug to look well on can- 
vas ; but it will gradually ripen into the Roman as the owner 
ripens into years and experience, and comes to a full knowl- 
edge of his own importance in the world. The mouth, too. 


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is a good one; not a rosebud mouth, such as we sometimes 
see in fancy pictures of the boy Washington, with his little 
hatchet ; of the boy Napoleon, with his little cannon ; or of 
the boy Samuel, at his perpetual devotions; but a large 
mouth, handsomely formed, and capable, with the help of 
dimples in the cheeks and the shine in the eyes, of as bright 
and loving a smile as heart of fond mother could wish. 

The outfit of our little hero is in keeping with the rustic 
simplicity of the times, consisting of but three garments — 
an outside shirt, an inside shirt, and a hairy coon-skin cap : 
the latter having no visor, but being in lieu adorned behind 
with the ringed tail, just as it grew on the living animal. 
The cap conceals one of his best features — a forehead bold, 
broad, round, and white, which, could it be seen, would 
much improve our portrait. The inside shirt, as may be 
seen by the collar, is of homespun cotton ; the outside shirt 
of fair, soft buckskin, secured at the waist by a belt of the 
same material, and falling a little below the knees. Saving 
the buckskin of mother nature’s own providing, the sturdy 
young legs are without covering — a deficiency which admits 
of plausible explanation. In those days of simple living 
and simple thinking, parents, going from cause to effect* by 
shorter cuts than they do at the present time, were much 
more strict and direct in the training of their children ; and 
breeches softening, as needs must, the severity of the switch, 
hence the moral efficacy thereof, boys, for the first ten years 
of their travels in the Paradise, were seldom allowed to wear 
them — buckskin breeches especially. Nor should we be sur- 
prised if just here were to be looked for the reason why our 
grandfathers and great-grandfathers were so much more en- 
ergetic, manly, and upright than their grandsons and great- 
grandsons, and so many more of them broad-backed, clean- 
limbed, and six feet high. 

The background to our portrait is a forest, lofty, shaggy, 


24 


Burl, 


and dense, and the home of a thousand wild things, which, 
being invisible at this moment, could not, "vvith due regard 
to fidelity, be introduced into our picture. The foreground 
is a cultivated clearing of about one hundred acres, with 
w'oody walls, unbroken in their leafy density, hemming it 
in on every side. Directly in front is a field of corn, the 
dark and thrifty green of which may well bespeak the deep, 
rich soil of the Paradise. Farther in are several other in- 
closures, either white with clover or brightly green with 
blue-grass, or darkly green with the yet unripened wheat. 
In the midst of all, and forming the central feature, stands 
a cabin, deserted and lowly since that unhappy night two 
years ago. 

Scattered about the clearing, singly or in clumps, or even 
in small groves, are to be seen the giant survivors of the 
primeval forest, which, rearing high aloft their green heads 
and flinging afar their mighty arms, yield pleasant shade to 
the horses, sheep, and cattle grazing about them. But more 
numerous are to be seen those that are not survivors, though 
still standing, drained of their sap of life by the woodman’s 
ax, which hacked those jagged girdles around their huge 
trunks. Standing there leafless, rigid, and gray, they re- 
mind us, in their branching nakedness, of the antlered elk, 
and in their gigantic unsightliness of the monstrous masto- 
don, that thing of grisly bone which, as a thing of life, no 
son of Adam ever beheld. Hard by stands an enormous 
oak, whose main bough, scathed and deadened by lightning, 
is thrust from out its ragged green robe like the extended, 
unsleeved arm of a giant, leaving a broad gap in the foliage 
open to the sky. 

Upon this blasted limb of the oak, as if met there to hold 
an indignation meeting relative to the scare-crows posted 
about the field, or to the objectionable nature of the plow- 
man’s music, or to some real or fancied cause of grievance. 


Burl. 


25 


have congregated a large assembly of sober-feathered, sober- 
visaged, but noisy, wrangling, turbulent crows, who, like 
many unfeathered bipeds on the like occasions, seem to have 
left their good breeding and good sense at home. Crows 
and their ways have always excited much interest in the 
minds of philosophic men, and the maneuvers of these be- 
fore us have been watched with lively curiosity by our little 
friend Bushie ever since we began drawing his portrait. 


4 


Siiapter 111. 

How Big Black Burl and Bushie Figured in Each 
Other’s Eyes. 


I spied a jay-bird on a tree, 

A ridin' on a swingin’ lim’ ; 

He cocked his eye an’ winked at me, 

I cocked my gun an’ winked at him ; 

An’ de jay-bird flew away — 

De jay-bird flew away — 

An’ lef’ de lim’ a-swingin’ — 

A-swingin’. 

(TUCH was a stanza from one of the songs that Big Black 
X-) Burl was singing while he plowed. The words were 
simple and crude enough, yet would the melody now and 
then be varied with an improvised cadence of wild and pe- 
culiar sweetness, such as one might readily fancy had often 
been heard in the far-off, golden days of Pan and Silvanus, 
and the other cloven-heeled, funny-eared genii of the green- 
wood. 

Though a swell in 4he ground hid them from his view, 
Bushie could tell almost to the minute when Burl and old 
Cornwallis made their turn at the farther side of the field, 
by the singing, which now began to draw gradually nearer. 
The morning was breezy, and ever and anon, when a wave 
of air came softly flowing over the rustling corn, the song 
would reach his ear with an augmented volume and dis- 
tinctness that made the unseen singer seem for the moment 
a hundred yards nearer than he really was. At length, 
right leisurely, they crept in sight — Cornwallis first, with his 
( 26 ) 


Burl. 


27 


piebald face; then, as the old horse would dip his head to 
nibble at the green blades under his nose, short glimpses of 
Burl, though for awhile no farther down than his enormous 
coon-skin cap, made, it is said, of the biggest raccoon that 
was ever trapped, treed, or shot in the Paradise. But pres- 
ently, observing the old horse prick up his ears at some ob- 
ject ahead. Burl sighted the woods from between them, and 
caught a glimpse of the, little figure perched up there on the 
topmost rail of the fence, square in front. Whereat, snap- 
ping short his melody in its loudest swell, the plowman, in 
an altogether different key and tone, and at the top of his 
tremendous voice, sent forward his favorite greeting : “ I yi, 

you dogs!” “ I yi, you ” piped back Bushie; but just 

as he would have added “ dogs,” he thought that “ coons ” 
wmuld, be more pat ; but not acting upon the thought in time 
for right effect, he supplied its place with a grin which said 
more plainly than words could have said it — than even 
“dogs” or “coons” — “I knew you would be glad to see 
me out here ! ” 

And glad Burl was, for as the plow, with the pleasant 
smell of fresh earth and growing herbs floating about it in 
the air, ran out of the furrow into the fence corner, he said, 
looking up with huge complacency at his little master: 
“He’s come out to de fief to see his of nigger, has het 
Well, me an’ Corny ’s a little tired, so we ’ll take a little, 
blow here in de shade uf de woods, an’ hab a little good 
soshyble talk wid our little marster.” 

So saying, he threw his plow-line over the plow-handle, 
and mounted the panel of the fence next to the one on which 
Bushie was sitting, and squared himself for the confab, 
which the little master opened thus: “Burl, just look at 
them crows up there on the dead limb of that big acorn- 
tree; what are they doing?” 

“ Dey ’s holdin’ a pra’er-meetin’, I ’spec’. No, not dat — 


28 


Buiil. 

camp-meetin’, dey ’s so noisy. Or, maybe, now” — eyeing 
his black brethren with close attention — “may be dey’s 
holdin’ a kunvintion, like Gener’l Wilkerson an’ t’other 
big guns, to hab ol’ Kaintuck stan’ ’pon her own legs, so 
she kin lay off Ian’ as she please, an’ fight de Injuns on her 
own hook.” 

“But why do they make so much noise?” inquired 
Bushie. 

“ Beca’se dey likes to hear ’emselves talk — eb’rybody 
wantin’ to do all de talkin’, an’ nobody wantin’ to do none 
uf de list’nin’ — jes’ like people.” 

“ Do n’t you wish you had Betsy Grumbo out here. Burl? 
How she ’d make their black feathers fly I And the woods 
are alive with squirrels. J ust see how they are running up 
and down the trees and along the top of the fence.” 

“ Ef I had Betsy Grumbo out here, de woods would n’t 
be alive wid squirrels, an’ dem black rogues up dar w'ould n’t 
be so near by — so easy an’ sassy.” 

“ Why would n’t they?” inquired Bushie. 

“ Beca’se dey ’d smell Betsy’s breaf, an’ make ’emselves 
scarce.” 

“ What ’s the matter with Betsy’s breath? ” 

“ W’y, Bushie, if Betsy is always belchin’ gunpowder, 
don’t you know her breaf mus’ smell uf gunpowder? ” 

“ Burl,” said Bushie, turning his eyes from the crows and 
fixing them wide open on his black chum’s face, “ I killed 
a rattlesnake yesterday, while I was out in the woods hunt- 
ing May-apples — a rattlesnake as big as your leg.” 

“ Now, Bushie, ain’t you lettin’ on?” said Burl with an in- 
credulous grin. “ Wus n’t it a black-snake, big as your leg ? ” 

“ Do rattlesnakes always rattle with their tails when they 
poke out their heads to bite a man? ” 

“Yas, always; or to bite a boy, either.” 

“And are rattlesnakes ever black?” 


Burl. 29 

“ Neber, ’ceptin’ on de back, an’ dare dey ’s brown an’ 
yaller.” 

“ Well, then, I reckon it must have been a black-snake, 
for it 'was black, and did n’t rattle its tail when it poked out 
its head to bite me.” 

“ Now, dare’s reason in dat; dare’s reason in all things,” 
said Burl, looking at his little master, with his head turned 
slightly downward and his eyes turned slightly upward, 
showing more of the whites, which was his way of looking 
wise. “ Things as has reason in ’em I likes. Says I to 
sich things, ‘ Come ’long, me an’, you can agree ; walk in my 
house an’ take a cheer, an’ make yo’se’f at home.’ But 
things as hain’t got reason in ’em, says I to sich things, 
‘You g’ ’long; me an’ you can’t agree; I’s no use for you, 
do n’t want you in my house. Scat ! ’ ” 

“And, Burl, after I killed the snake I saw a painter.” 

“ Now, Bushie, lettin’ on agin, ain’t you? Wus n’t it our 
yaller Tom dare at de fort, gwine out to see his kinfolks 
’niong de wilecats ’way off yander?” 

“ Do painters always scream like a skeered woman or a 
burnt baby, when they go a-jumping from one tree to an- 
other? And do they always keep a-s winging their long, 
limber tails? ” 

“ Dat ’s de cretor’s music, an’ dem ’s de cretor’s capers,” 
replied Burl. 

“ Then I just know it was a painter,” said Bushie, more 
certain of his panther than he had been of his snake; “for 
that was just the way he carried on.” 

“An’ what did you do to de painter, Bushie? Kilt him, 
too, I ’spect.” 

“No, I just looked cross-eyed at him and skeered him 
away.” 

“ H-yah, h-yah, h-yah ! ” laughed the black giant, till the 
fence shook and rattled 


30 


B URL. 


“ Now, Burl,’’ said Bushie, regarding his black chum 
with great soberness, “ did n’t you tell me if ever I saw a 
painter I must sheer him away by looking cross-eyed at 
him? ” 

“ Look at me, Bushie, de way you did at de painter,” said 
Burl, with a broad grin. “ I wants to see how well you ’ve 
larnt your lesson.” 

Complying at once, Bushie pulled down and screwed up 
his quizzical little face in such a marvelous manner that 
eyes, nose, mouth, and coon-skin cap seemed on the point of 
breaking out into a family row beyond hope of ever coming 
again to a good understanding one with another. 

“ No wonder the varmint was skeered and went screamin’ 
away ! ” And the black giant laughed till the forest shook 
to its roots, and every inquisitive squirrel and prying fox 
within a half mile peered warily forth from its hole to dis- 
cover what jovial monster this might be that had invaded 
their leafy wilds. Suddenly checking his laughter. Burl 
said: “But, Bushie, I forgot to ax you if you axed your 
modder to let you, come out here to de fiel’. Did you? ” 

“Yes.” 

“An’ she said you might come, did she?” 

“Just look up yonder. Burl, and see how the crows have 
gone to fighting.” 

“You g’ ’long with your, crows, an’ look at me right, an’ 
tell me if yo’ modder said you might come.” 

“And Burl, after I skeered the painter aw^ay,” remarked 
Bushie, “ I saw two buffalo bulls fighting right on the high 
river-bank, and the one that got his tail up hill pushed the 
other clean ” 

“You g’ ’long with your bulls too, an’ no mo’ uf yo’ 
dodgin’, but look me right in de face an’ answer my ques- 
tion.” 

Now, Bushie had never told a lie — that is to say, a down- 


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B URL. 


31 


right lie — in all his life. It must be owned, however, that 
he would sometimes try to dodge the truth, by throwing out 
some remark quite foreign to the offense under consideration ; 
an effective way of whipping the father of fibs around the 
stump, as many people who ought to know can testify. Or, 
failing to clear his skirts by this shift, he would go on pick- 
ing at the mud-daubing in the wall, near which he might 
chance to be standing, or breaking off splinters from the 
fence on which he might chance to be sitting, without saying 
a word either foreign or akin to the matter in hand. But 
let him once be fairly cornered, convinced that dodging the 
question was out of the question, then w^ould he turn himself 
square about, and looking you full in the face, out with the 
naked truth as bluntly as if he had “ chawed ” it into a hard 
wad and shot it at you from his pop-gun. So, in the present 
instance, throwing down the handful of splinters he had 
broken from the rail, he turned his big blue eyes full upon 
the face of his black inquisitor, and bluntly answered, “ No, 
she did n’t.” 

“Did she say you mus’ n’t come? ” 

“Yes, she did.” 

“Den, why didn’t you mind yo’ modder?” 

“ Because.” 

“Ah, Bushie, my boy, beca’se won’t do. Dare’s paint- 
evs an’ wolves fur bad little boys as runs a\Vay frum home 
an’ hain’t got nothin’ to say fur ’emselves but beca’se. An’ 
Injuns, too, wid cuttin’ knives an’ splittin’ tomahawks fur 
sich boys ; yes, an’ bars too. W’y, Bushie, do n’t you ’mem- 
ber how we reads in de Good Book ’bout de bad town-boys 
who come out to de big road one day an’ throwed dirt at de 
good ol’ ’Lishy, de bal’-headed preacher, an’ made ugly 
mouths at him, an’ jawed him, an’ sassed him, an’ all de time 
kep’ sayin’, ‘ G’ ’long, you ol’ bal’-head; g’ ’long, you ol’ bal’- 
head! ’ Den de good ol’ ’Lishy looked back an’ cussed ’em. 


32 


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when two she-bars heerd him an’ come out iif de woods wid 
der cubs at der heels, an’ walked in on der hin’ legs ’mong 
dem bad town-boys, a scratchin’ an’ a clawin’, a bitin’ an’ a 
gnawin’, right an’ lef ’, an’ neber stoppin’ till dey had tore 
an’ chawed ’em every one up. Now, you see, Bushie, dese 
bad town-boys had run ’way frum home dat mornin’ when 
der modders had said dey mus’ n’t, an’ had n’t nothin’ to say 
fur ’emselves but beca’se.” 

“ Burl, did you ever see Colonel Daniel Boone? ” — break- 
ing off this disagreeable subject as he would a rail-splinter. 

“ What ’s Colonel Danel Boone got to do wid de good ol’ 
’Lishy an’ de bad town-boys? You look me right in de face 
an’ tell me you ’s sorry fur not mindin’ your modder. Now, 
ain’t you?” 

“ No, I ain’t.” 

“Ah, Bushrod, Bushrod, you ’s a hard little case, I ’m 
afeard,” said Burl, with a grave shake of the head ; but de- 
termined to bring the delinquent to a sense of his evil w^ays, 
he thus proceeded : “ But, s’posin’ now, while you ’s runnin’ 
’way you ’s to git lost ’w^ay down yander in de black holler 
whar I kilt de one-eyed wolf las’ fall, an’ hafter stay dare 
all night all by yo’se’f, nothin’ fur a good warm supper but 
a cap full of pawpaws or pussimmons, an’ nothin’ fur a good 
warm feather-bed but a pile of dry leabs. Wouldn’t you 
be sorry den? ” 

“ Not much.” 

“ He ’s a pow’ful hard little case,” said Burl to himself; 
“ I mus’ try him a leetle stronger. Well, den, sposin’ next 
mornin’ you ’s to wake up an’ see a she-bar, wid a pack uf 
hungry cubs at her heels all a-comin’ at you on dare hin’ 
legs, an’ all begin a scratchin’ an’ a clawdn’, a bitin’ an’ a 
gnawin’ all over you, an’ all at once. Would n’t you be 
sorry den? ” 

“ Yes.” 


Burl. 


33 


“ I yi! ” cried Burl triumphantly, “ I thought dat would 
bring de little sinner to his milk.” And having brought 
the young transgressor to know and feel the evil of his ways, 
he was now ready to answ’er the inquiry touching Colonel 
Daniel Boone, and more than ready, since it had a direct 
bearing upon subjects in which he took particular interest. 

“ So my little man would like to know ef I eber seed Col- 
onel Danel Boone. Did I eber see a bar? Did I eber see 
a buck? Did I eber see a buffalo? Course, I ’s seed Colo- 
nel Danel Boone, many an’ many a time, an’ I knows him 
too, like a book.” 

“ Is he the greatest man in the w'orld. Burl? I ’ve heard 
he was.” 

To which, with that profound air which men are apt to 
assume when called upon for an opinion touching a matter 
of moment, and aware what weight their judgment will carry 
in the minds of their listeners, and that it therefore behooves 
them to be cautious in expressing it. Big Black Burl, with 
emphatic pauses between phrases and now and then an em- 
phatic jesture, thus made response: 

“Well take him up dis side an’ down dat at de 

britch an’ in de barr’l Mars Dan — Colonel Boone, I 

mean — is 1 s’pose you may say de greates’ man in de 

work, but,” an emphatic gesture, “if you mean by dat, is he 
de greates’ Inj un-fighter in de work, den says I, No, sir. Colo- 
nel Boone ain’t de greates’ Injun-fighter in de work. He ’s 
a leetle too tender-hearted to be a real, giniwine, tip-top, 
out-an’-out Injun-fighter. W’y, sir, he neber tuck a skelp in 
all his life. Time an’ agin has I been out wid him Inj un- 
huntin’, a-scourin’ de woods, hot on de heels uf de red var- 
mints, an’ when he shoots ’em down, dare he lets ’em lay an’ 
neber tetches a har uf de skelps. Den says he, ‘ It does seem 
sich a pity to kill de pore cretors, dey looks so much like hu- 
niins, but it ’s boun’ to be done: ef we do n’t kill ’em dey ’ll 
3 


34 


Burl. 


kill us, nip an’ tuck.’ Den says I, ‘ Mars Dan — no, I do n’t 
say dat — Colonel Boone,’ says I, ‘ what you gwine to do wid 
de skelps?’ Says he, ‘Jest let ’em stay whare dey is fur de 
buzzards.’ Den says I, ‘Colonel Boone, let me have de 
skelps to hang up in my cabin to ’member you by.’ Says 
he, ‘Burlman Rennuls,’ dat ’s me, you know, Bushie; ‘Burl- 
man Rennuls,’ says he, ‘ you ’s ’tirely welcome to de skelps, 
ef you kin take ’em widout cuttin’ an’ spilin’ de skin.’ 
H-yah, h-yah, h-yah ! ” And the black braggart laughed as 
sincerely as if he were for the moment self-deceived into 
thinking that he was dealing in facts. But quickly recov- 
ering his lofty air, which had vanished while he laughed, 
the Fighting Negro thus proceeded wdth his observations 
upon the lights of the age : “ Now, ef you ’d like to know my 
’pinion as to who ’s de greates’ Inj un-fighter in de work, den 
says I agin, it ain’t Colonel Boone ; I will say it ain’t Colonel 
Logan; yes, an’ I’ll say it ain’t Giner’l Clarke; but dat 

man, sir, is ” an emphatic pause, “ Cap’n Simon Kenton. 

Cap’n Simon Kenton, sir, is de greates’ Inj un-fighter in de 
work.” 

“ Does Cap’n Kenton take scalps? ” inquired Bushie. 

“ Does he take de skin uf a bar when he traps it? Does 
he take de tail-feathers uf a eagle wFen he shoots it? Course 
he takes skelps. How ’d people know he had kilt de red 
varmints ef he did n’t hab de top-nots to show fur it? Cap’n 
Kenton, sir, is a man uf grit. None o’ yo’ tender-hearted 
flinch in Cap’n Kenton ; ef he ’s got any tender feelin’s in 
him, dey ’s all fur u§ white folks. Flint, sir, flint, lead, an’ 
steel is all he has fur de red rubbish.” 

“ But mother says it is wrong for white men to take scalps,” 
observed Bushie. 

Whereat the Fighting Negro was somewhat taken aback, 
and for a full minute quite at a loss for an answer which 
would justify himself and Captain Kenton in their practice 


B URL. 


35 


of taking scalps, and yet not gainsay Miss Jemima’s disap- 
probation of the same. But after taking a bird’s-eye view 
of the landscape before him, and with it a bird’s-eye view 
of the subject, he was his collected self again. He began 
his answer by observing, in a general way, that Miss Jemi- 
ma doubtless meant that the practice in question was wrong 
so far only as it concerned the duties and obligations of hus- 
bands and fathers, without intending her stricture to apply 
to bachelors, like himself and Captain Kenton. Having 
thus skillfully accommodated both sides of the matter in dis- 
pute, the Fighting Negro, with a persuasive gesture, wound 
up his vindication thus: “So, you see, Bushrod, Jemimy 
Rennuls wus right, an’ Burlman Rennuls wus right. Dare ’s 
reason in all things. Now, when you grows up an’ gits to 
be a married man, den comes I to you an’ says, ‘ Cap’n 
Rennuls;’ dat ’ll be you, you know, Bushie; ‘Cap’n Ren- 
nuls,’ says I, ‘ you ’s a married man now, got a wife, gwine 
to be a man of fam’ly, den it won’t do fur you to take 
skelps. Jes’ leab dat part uf de business to de bucks dat 
hain’t got no do’s, like me an’ Cap’n Kenton. I say, 
Cap’n Rennuls, do n’t you take no skelps, yo’ wife won’t 
like it.’ ” And the Fighting Negro triumphantly crossed 
his legs. A delicate and difficult question had been set- 
tled, and to the entire satisfaction of at least one party con- 
cerned. 

Now, between these two personages of our story, so widely 
different from each other in size, age, color, and condition, 
there existed, as doubtless has already been discovered, a sort 
of mutual-admiration understanding, which always kept them 
on the best of terms one with another, no matter how rough- 
ly they might be at rubs with the rest of the world: the 
black giant making a household idol, so to speak, of his lit- 
tle master; the little master a pattern, so to speak, of the 
black giant. So, when the pattern crossed his legs, the idol 


3G 


B URL. 


needs must cross his legs likewise. But in the act, the rail 
on which he was sitting, giving a sudden turn, marred the 
new attitude before it was fairly assumed ; when, up with a 
flourish, flew the little naked heels, as high as the little coon- 
skin cap had been, and backward tumbled the household 
idol into a dense clump of pea- vines which, with a smart 
sprinkling of briers, grew in the fence-corner behind him. 
In an instant the little man had vanished, and there instead 
lay sprawling a yelling urchin; the yelling, however, con- 
siderably smothered by his coon-skin cap rammed down over 
his mouth, and by his two shirts turned up over his head. 
With a swing of his huge limbs that made the knitted pan- 
els shake and rattle. Burl had flung himself over the 
fence, and was now engaged in the ticklish task of extri- 
cating his little master from amongst the vines and briers, 
the latter being just sufficiently thick to spice the disaster. 
When he had succeeded in fishing him out, pulled down 
the shirts, and pushed up the cap, he began vigorously rub- 
bing the bare young legs with the palm of his hand, spit- 
ting upon it, the better, as he said, to draw out the smart- 
ing and the stinging of the brier-scratches. Then setting 
his idol, still howling, upon his own panel of the fence. 
Burl began looking about him with wide-open eyes, as if 
in quest of something lost, wondering the while what could 
have become of his little man. 

“Has he tuck de wings uf a duck an’ flew away? ” — giv- 
ing a broad stare at the open sky, then, with a disappointed 
shake of the head, added : “ N-o-h. Has he tuck de claws 
uf a coon an’ clum a tree?” — attentively scanning the tree- 
tops. “N-o-h,” with another disappointed shake of the 
head. “May be he’s changed hisself into a groun’-squir- 
rel, an’ crep’ into a hollow log” — peeping narrowly into 
the hollow trunk of a fallen tree near by. “N-o-h. Den 
whar can my little man a- went to?” — now quite desperate. 


Burl. 


37 


taking a general survey of the neighboring country, and 
scratching his back with the knuckle of his thumb. “ ’Pon 
my honor, I b’lieve he’s plowin’ on tudder side de fiel’; 
thought I heerd him a-whistlin ober dar ” — feigning to list- 
en for a moment. “ N-o-h; jes’ Bob White a-whistlin’ ober 
dar. Den sholey he ’s tuck his gun an’ went to de lick to 
shoot us a buffalo calf for dinner ; or, if not dat, he ’s went 
a Injun-huntin’ wid my frien’ Cap’n Kenton. Sho’s you 
bawn, he’s went a Injun-huntin’ wid my frien’ Cap’n Ken- 
ton. W’y, dar he is ! ” exclaimed he with delighted sur- 
prise, bringing his eyes at last to bear upon his little master, 
who, having made a manful effort to call back his manhood, 
was now the howling urchin no longer, though he did look 
a little chap-fallen, nor had he yet left off rubbing his legs. 
“ Dar ’s my little man, come back to tell me how my frien’ 
Cap’n Kenton is gittin’ along. While he was gone I thought 
I heerd a buffalo bull-calf ober dar in de woods a bellerin’ 
as if Grumbo had him by de tail ; but when I went to look 
fur him I could n’t find him. Den I thought it mus’ be a 
wilecat kitten a-mewin’ ober dar in de woods, but could n’t 
find a kitten nudder. Wonder ef my little man couldn’t 
tell me what it was I heerd.” 

The little man looked as if he knew nothing at all about 
the matter, and was quite willing to take Burl’s word for it 
and let the noise in question pass either for the bellowing 
of a buffalo bull-calf or for the mewing of a wild-cat kitten, 
he cared not a whistle which. By this time Burl had 
climbed back over the fence into the field, and was now 
slowly turning his horse and plow to run his next furrow. 

“Well, Bushie, me an’ ol’ Corny’s had our blow. So 
we mus’ pitch in agin an’ go to scratchin’, an’ keep a-scratch- 
in’ an’ keep a-scratchin’ ; ef we do n’t, our little marster won’t 
hab no roasin’-ears fur summer, no johnny-cakes an’ pun- 
kin-pies fur winter. So you jes’ stay whar you is, an’ when 


38 


Burl. 


de dinner horn blows I ’ll put you on ol’ Cornwallis an’ take 
you home a-ridin’.” 

And with a pleasant smell of fresh earth and growing 
herbs floating about them in the air, plow and plowman 
w^ent their way, the singing recommencing with the work, as 
naturally as consequence follows cause : 

“Squirly is a pretty bird. 

He carries a bushy tail. 

He eats up all de fanner’s corn 
An’ hearts it on de rail. 

He hearts it on de rail, young gals. 

He hearts it on de rail.” 

Louder and louder, higher and higher rose the giant voice, 
till filling all the hollow clearing, it overflowed the leafy 
walls of forest green in waves of jocund and melodious sound. 




V 


Ghapter IV. 

How Somebody was Lost in the Paradise. 

F or an hour or two the plowing and singing went cheerily 
on ; Bushie, the while, shifting his perch upon the fence 
to keep himself on a line with the furrow next to be run. 
When the plow was not in sight he amused himself by watch- 
ing the squirrels at play, or the birds at nest-building, or 
the crows where they still kept their station on the blasted 
limb of the oak. By this time the assembly had grown more 
noisy and obstreperous than ever, till finally, all order and 
decorum lost, the big talk broke up in a big row, the radi- 
cals turning tails upon each other and flying away to the 
north and the south ; the conservatives, understanding each 
other no better, flying away to the east and the west. 

Each time, as he neared the end of his furrow. Burl cut- 
ting short his singing the moment he spied his little master, 
would send forward at the top of his stentorian lungs his 
wonted greeting, “ I yi, you dogs ! ” This was a favorite ex- 
pression with him, and variously to be understood according 
to circumstances. Treading the peace-path barefooted and 
shirt-sleeved, he was wont to use it as a form of friendly 
greeting, in the sense of “hail fellow well met,” or “Good- 
morning, my friend,” or as a note of brotherly cheer, equiv- 
alent to “ Hurrah, boys ! ” or “ Bully for you ! ” But treading 
the war-path, moccasin-shod and double-shirted, with rifle on 
shoulder and hatchet in belt, he used the expression in an 
altogether different sense. Then it became his battle-cry, 
his note of defiance, his war-whoop, his trumpet-call to vic- 

( 39 ) 


40 


Burl. 


tory and scalps. Taken by the Indians, who never heard it 
but to their cost, it was understood as the English for “ Die, , 
die, red dogs!” 

While making his turns between rounds. Burl, glancing 
complacently up at his little master, would make some re- 
mark about the squirrels and the birds who seemed to be in 
a “ monstrous ” fine humor that morning, or about the crows 
who seemed to be in a ‘-monstrous” bad humor: “ De corn 
now gittin’ too tall an’ strong for ’em to pull — de black 
rogues! ” Once or twice it was a sympathetic inquiry about 
“ our little legs,” with a comment upon the efficacy of spit 
for drawing out “ de smartin’ an’ stingin’ of brier-scratches.” 
Oftener, however, than any thing else, it was the assurance 
that by the time the plowing should reach a certain shell- 
bark hickory that stood near the middle of the field the din- 
ner-horn w^ould be blowing, when the little man should go 
home “ a-ridin’ ol’ Cornwallis ; ” the little man always an- 
swering this with a grin of glad anticipation. The turn by 
this time fairly made, the plowing and singing would recom- 
mence : 

“Come, come! come, corn, come! 

Burl a-plowin’ in de fief, 

A-singin’ fur de roasin’-ear to come. 

“Come, come! come, corn, come! 

Burl a-plowin’ in de fief, 

A-singin’ fur de johnny-cake to come. 

“Come, come! come, punkin, come! 

Burl a-plowin’ in de fief, 

A-singin’ fur de punkin-pie to come.” 

On nearing his eighth or ninth round. Burl w'as on the 
point of shouting forward the accustomed greeting, when he 
saw that his little master had vanished from the fence. At 
this, however, he was not surprised, naturally supposing that 
the boy having grown weary with waiting so long, and lone- 


B URL, 


41 


some, had returned to the fort. Now the fact was, Burl had 
gone to the field that morning before Captain Kenton had 
called at the station with the intelligence of having seen 
fresh Indian traces in the wood but a few miles from the 
place. This circumstance was therefore unknown to him, 
else had the faithful fellow never lost sight of his little mas- 
ter until he had seen him safe back home. So, without any 
suspicion of danger, he went on singing at his work as before : 

“ Wher* now is our Hebrew childern? 

Whef now is our Hebrew childern? 

Wher’ now is our Hebrew childern? 

Safe in de promis’ Ian’. 

Dey went up frum de fiery furnace, 

Dey went up frum de fiery furnace, 

Dey went up frum de fiery furnace, 

Safe to de promis’ Ian’. 

By an’ by we’ll go an’ see dem. 

By an’ by we’ll go an’ see dem. 

By an’ by we ’ll go an’ see dem, 

Safe in de promis’ Ian’.” 

Thus questioning, answering, promising, the song, or per- 
haps hymn it might be called, went on through several stan- 
zas, telling in dolorous cadences how our good “of Danel 
went up frum de den uf lions;” how “our good oV ’Ligy 
went up on wheels uf fire ; ” how “ our good oV Samson went 
up wid de gates uf Gaza;” how “our good of Noah went 
up frum de mount uf Areat ; ” how “ our good oV Mary went 
up in robes uf whiteness,” etc., all “ safe to de promis’ Ian’,” 
the comforting assurance over and over repeated that “ by 
an’ by we ’ll go an’ see dem, safe in de promis’ Ian’.” Long 
as it was, the song was much too short for Big Black Burl, 
as indeed was every song that he sung. But being a “ dab ” 
at improvising words, as well as music, he could easily spin 
out his melodies to any length he pleased. So, on getting to 
the end of his hymn, ignoring the fact, he went right on ad 


42 Burl. 

libitum until he had sent up, in some manner, scriptural or 
not, or from some locality, scriptural or not, every good old 
Hebrew he could think of, safe to the promised land, wind- 
ing up thus with our good old Jonah: 

‘‘Wher’ now is our good of Jonah? 

Wher’ now is our good of Jonah? 

Wher’ now is our good of Jonah? 

Safe in de pro mis’ Ian’. 

He went up frum — I do n’t know wher’ frum ; 

He went up frum — I do n’t know wher’ frum; 

He went up frum — I do n’t know wher’ frum. 

Safe to de promis’ Ian’. 

By an’ by we ’ll go an’ see him ; 

By an’ by we ’ll go an’ see him; 

By an’ by we ’ll go an’ see him. 

Safe in de promis’ Ian’.” 

Having got to the end of his Hebrew rope, the singer, 
pausing but long enough for a “ Gee up. Corny,” to his slow- 
paced plow-horse, passed recklessly from sacred to profane, 
and fell to roaring “ Of Zip Coon,” from which to pass in 
turn, by a cut as short, to “ Hark ! from the tombs a doleful 
sound.” 

When the dinner-horn blew, he unhitched old Cornwallis 
from the plow, and, mounting him, rode leisurely home. 
Having tied his horse to a long trough set on two wide red- 
oak stumps just outside the gate of the fort, and throwing 
in a dozen ears of corn, he went on into Miss Jemima’s kitch- 
en to get his own dinner. Drawing a puncheon-stool up to 
the puncheon-table, he sat down to his noonday meal with 
an appetite which had been sharp enough from his morning 
labors, but to which his singing had lent an edge keen as a 
tomahawk. He had cut him a long, thick slice of bacon 
and was in the act of conveying the first solid inch of the 
savory fat to his lips when the fork thus loaded was stayed 
midway between plate and open mouth by the voice of his 


B URL, 


43 


mistress, who came to the kitchen-door to inquire if Bushie 
had not come in wdth him. Burl looked quickly round, 
saying with a tone of surprise: “ Why, Miss Jemimy, has n^t 
Bushie come home?” 

“ No ; nor has he been seen in or about the fort for more 
than three hours,” replied the mother. 

Bolting the solid inch of bacon which the while he had 
held poised on his fork, he rose quickly from the table and 
W’as hurrying out of the house when his mistress, with more 
alarm at heart than look or tone betrayed, inquired of him 
whither he was going. 

“ Jus’ back to de fiel’ ag’in to git Bushie. Come out to 
de fiel’ whar I was plowin’, he did ; staid a good smart bit, 
settin’ on de fence, waitin’ fur de dinner-horn to blow, when 
he w^as to ride ol’ Corny home. He ’s shorely laid down on 
de grass in de fence-corner an’ went to sleep. But I ’ll go 
an’ bring him home right away.” 

And with this explanation Burl was off to the field again, 
though with but the slightest hope of finding his little mas- 
ter out there asleep on the grass in the fence-corner, as he 
had suggested. On reaching the spot where he had last 
seen the boy he made a careful examination of the ground, 
and it was not long before his keen and practiced eye dis- 
covered in the crushed leaves and bruised weeds the traces 
of three Indians. The savages had evidently crept upon 
the child and made him their captive before he could cry 
for help, while he who would have rescued him or perished 
was blithely singing at his work on the other side of the 
field. For several moments Big Black Burl stood as if 
dumbfounded, gazing fixedly down at the hated foot-prints 
in the leaves. But when he raised his eyes and beheld the 
cabin where, deserted and lonely, it stood in the midst of 
the waving green, another look came into his face — one of 
vengeful and desperate determination right terrible to see. 


44 


Burl, 


Speeding back to the fort, he found liis mistress standing 
in her cabin door-way waiting and watching his return. No 
need to be told the afflicting tidings, she read them in his 
hurried gait and dismayed countenance. She uttered not 
a cry, shed not a tear, but, with lips and cheeks blanched as 
with the hue of death, she sunk down upon a wooden settee 
that stood close behind her. And there, at the door of her 
desolate house, the widowed mother sat — continued to sit 
through the long, sad, weary hours of absence and suspense, 
waiting and watching, her eyes turned ever toward the per- 
ilous north. Fortunately about a dozen of the hunters be- 
longing to the station had just come in from the forest, who, 
upon learning what had happened, promptly volunteered to 
set out at once in pursuit of the savages and rescue, if possi- 
ble, the unlucky Bushie, the boy being a great favorite with 
everybody at the fort. 

No more work in the field that day for Big Black Burl — 
he must now leave the peace-path to tread the war-path. 
But, before setting out, he must touch up his toilet a little, 
for, though careless enough of his personal appearance as a 
field-hand, our colored hero took a great pride in coming 
out on grand occasions like the present in a guise more be- 
seeming his high reputation as an Indian-fighter. So, going 
at once to his own cabin, where he kept all his war and 
martial rigging perpetually ready for use in a minute’s 
notice, he dashed through the process with a celerity quite 
astonishing in one who was usually so heavy and deliberate 
in his motions. First, he drew on his moccasins, each of 
which was roomy enough to hide a half-grown raccoon ; then, 
over his buckskin breeches he tied a pair of bear-skin leg- 
gins, hairy and wide; then, he drew on over his buckskin 
under-shirt a bear-skin hunting-shirt ample enough for the 
shoulders of Hercules, securing it at the waist with a broad 
leathern belt, into which he stuck his sheathed hunting- 


B URL. 


45 


knife and his tomahawk, or battle-ax it might be called, it was 
so ponderous. His ammunition-pouch and powder-horn— 
that on the left-hand side, this on the right — he then slung 
over his shoulders by two wide leathern straps, crossing each 
other on breast and back. Last, he doffed his coon-skin cap 
and donned another of bear-skin, more portentous still in its 
dimensions ; and with Betsy Grumbo — his long, black rifle ; 
the longest, so said, in the Paradise — gleaming aslant his 
shoulder, the Fighting Nigger sallied from his cabin, com- 
pletely armed and rigged for war. Giving a loud, fife-like 
whistle, he was instantly joined by a huge brindled dog of 
grim and formidable aspect. As he passed by the door where 
his mistress sat, in her mute, tearless, motionless grief, he 
turned to her for a moment, cap in hand, and with terrible 
sublimity said ; “ Miss Jemimy, you see me come back wid 
Bushie, or you neber see yo’ oV nigger no mo’.” 

He then joined the white hunters, who by this time were 
ready likewise, and led the way to the spot where he had 
last seen his unfortunate little master. 


Chapter V. 

How Grumbo Figured in the Paradise. 

JJTHE brindled dog, until his part of the work in hand should 
1 be made known to him, stalked on with an air of grim, 
consequential indifference, keeping his muzzle close under 
the shadow of his master’s hunting-shirt, content for the 
time with the little that might be seen ahead from between 
the moving legs before him. Now, Grumbo — for such was 
the name of the brindled dog — was a personage of conse- 
quence in his day, and is to play a rather prominent part 
in our story. Therefore, it were but due him, in mem- 
ory of his great exploits, and of the signal service which 
on this particular occasion he rendered the settlement, 
that we draw a full-length portrait of our canine hero like- 
wise. 

Had you met his dogship in the fort, you would, at first 
glance, have put him down in your mind as an uncommonly 
large, well-conditioned wolf, whose habits and tastes had 
been so far civilized as to admit of his tolerating the com- 
panionship of man and subsisting on a mixed diet; but at 
the second glance, noting his color, and the shape of his 
head, with a certain loftiness of mien and suppleness of back- 
bone — neither of which is ever to be found in the wolf — you 
would have pronounced him a little lion, shorn of his brin- 
dled mane. On further acquaintance, however — I cannot 
say intimate acquaintance, his excellency being of far too 
reserved a turn for that — you would have discovered him to 
be a most remarkable dog, whose character was well worth 
( 40 ) 


Burl, 47 

your study, made up as it was of every quality deemed most 
desirable in the larger breeds of his race. 

He had the obstinacy of the bull-dog, the fierceness of the 
blood-hound, the steadiness of the stag-hound, the sagacity 
of the shepherd-dog, and the faithfulness and watchfulness 
of the mastiff, with the courage and strength of them all 
combined. To this imposing array of canine virtues, those 
who enjoyed his more intimate acquaintance — the few — 
would have added the affectionate docility of the Newfound- 
land, and the delicate playfulness of the Italian greyhound. 
It must be owned, however, that he displayed little enough 
of the last-named qualities, excepting to Burlman Reynolds, 
Jemima Reynolds, and little Bushie, in whose society only 
would he now and then deign to unbend — i. e., untwist and 
wag* his iron hook of a tail — and, for a few moments snatched 
from the press of public business, play the familiar and 
agreeable. If he ever caught any one railing at Grumbo — 
any colored individual, that is, in bad odor wdth his dogship 
— and cursing him for a misbegotten w^olf. Big Black Burl 
would be all afk’e in the flash of a gun-flint, and ready to 
pulverize the false muzzle that dared dab the fair name of 
his four-footed chum with a slur so foul. Sometimes, though, 
the white hunters, also, would curse Grumbo — denouncing 
him as a dog too wanting in the milk of human kindness to 
be allowed a place in human society, unmuzzled, excepting 
when on duty. Too mindful of what was expected of him 
as a man of color to give his white superiors the denial flat. 
Burl would, nevertheless, hasten to disprove the charge, by 
citing some act of signal service rendered by the injured one 
to his master at some moment of sore, besetting need. For 
example : 

One day the Fighting Nigger was out in the forest “a 
Injun huntin’,” his trusted dog on a hot scent far in ad- 
vance, his trusty gun, Betsy Grumbo, in “ bitin’” order, on 


48 


B URL. 


his shoulder. On a sudden, with no other warning than a 
rough chorus of growls at his very heels, he found himself 
set upon by a whole family of bears, who spying him, as he 
passed unawares too near the door of their domestic den, had 
sallied out, higgledy-piggledy, to give the intruder battle. 
To step to one side and wdth the bullet already in his rifle 
lay the old he-bear, who led the onslaught, dead on the spot 
was easy enough ; so would it have been as easy to dispatch 
the old she-bear, had she but allowed him time to reload his 
piece. But enraged at the sight of her slain lord, and af- 
flicted at the thought of her fatherless cubs at her heels, the 
dam, rearing upon her hind legs, bore down upon him at 
once, at the same time growling out to her litter to fall, tooth 
and nail, on the enemy in flank and rear. 

So sudden was the charge that the unlucky Burl had 
barely time to thrust out his gun against the chief assailant, 
when he found himself completely beset. Wielding his un- 
loaded rifle as he would a pike — poking, pushing, punching 
therewith at the infuriated dam, in throat and breast and 
ribs — he contrived for a time to keep himself clear of the 
terrible claws continually making at him in such fierce, un- 
welcome greeting. But the odds were against the black 
hunter. Swift to obey their mother’s command, the cubs 
with their milk-teeth were pulling and tugging at his buck- 
skin breeches in a manner exceedingly lively, w^hich, though 
it did not reach his skin, was making heavy demands on his 
breath, fast growing short and shorter. 

He could not hope to hold out long in a contest so une- 
qual. Where was Grumbo — his trusty, his courageous 
Grumbo? why was he not there to succor his master in that 
hour of peril? In his extremity he essayed to whistle for 
his dog, but his breath was too far spent for that. Muster- 
ing up all the remaining strength of his lungs, he sent peal- 
ing afar through the forest wilds the old familiar battle-cry, 


Burl. 


49 


“I yi, you dogs!” at the same moment fetching the dam a 
poke of unusual vigor and directness, which brought her for 
once sprawling upon her back. But in the act, w^hile yet 
his whole weight was thrown upon his right foot, one of the 
cubs, more sturdy than the rest, caught up his left foot by 
the top of the moccasin and continued to hold it up so stiffly 
as to reduce him to the necessity either of coming to his 
knees or of hopping about on one foot ; and hop was what 
he did, encumbered as was the hopping limb with the rest 
of the litter. Hardly had he given a hop with one foot and 
a kick with the other, to free himself from the obstinate lit- 
tle tormenters, when the dam, recovering herself in a twink- 
ling, was bearing down upon him again on her hind legs 
with greater fury than ever. Against such desperate odds 
how could he hold out longer, reduced as he w^as to an 
empty gun, one leg, and no dog? Still hopping about on 
one foot and kicking with the other, he had unsheathed his 
hunting-knife to do what he might with that in the unmoth- 
erly hug which he felt must come at last, when here, in the 
nick of time, having heard his master’s call from afar, the 
heroic Grumbo came dashing up to the rescue. Without 
yelp, or bark, or growl, or any other needless ado, this jewel 
of a dog laid hold of the she-bear’s stump of a tail, wfflich 
his instinct told him w^as the enemy’s vulnerable point, and 
with a sudden, forcible, backward pull, brought her lady- 
ship growling to her all-fours. The cubs, seeing their dam’s 
extremity, left off w^orrying the legs of the almost breathless 
hunter to fall tooth and nail on the new enemy. But heed- 
ing them no more than so many fleas to be scratched off at 
his leisure, Grumbo continued to maintain his vantage- 
ground, holding the she-bear still by the tail with jaws in- 
flexible as death, and merely turning from right to left as 
she turned from right to left, to keep himself on a line with 
her and beyond the reach of her claws and teeth. 

4 


50 


B URL. 


Meanwhile, having inspected Betsy Grumbo, to make sure 
that she had sustained no damage in the conflict, Burl put 
her in “extry bitin’ order” by loading her with two bullets 
and a double charge of powder. Then stepping a few paces 
to one side, so as not to endanger Grumbo, he took deliber- 
ate aim and let the dam have it full in the body, just behind 
the shoulder. AVith a fierce growl she sunk down lifeless 
by the side of her slain lord, the jaws of the dog still 
clinched like a vice upon her tail. 

“An’ dat ’s de way,” to finish Burl’s own story in his own 
words, “ Burlman Kennuls an’ Grumbo w^oun’ up de ol’ she- 
bar. Den goes I up to de cubs, whar dey still kep a-gnaw- 
iii’ an’ a-scratchin’ an’ a-clawin’ ober Grumbo, an’ tickles 
’em to death wid de pint uf my knife. Den I looks roun’ 
an’ dare ’s Grumbo still a-holdin’ on to de varmint’s tail like 
a dead turtle to a corn-cob. Says I : ‘ Grumbo, onscrew yo’ 
vice an’ stop yo’ chawin’; de varmint’s dead. Don’t you 
know Betsy Grumbo alwus bites in de heart, an’ bars never 
play ’possum V Den Grumbo lets go slow an’ easy as ef he ’s 
afeerd de varmint wus makin’ a fool uf him an’ Burlman 
Kennuls, too. Den we skins de bars, an’ we kindles a fire ; 
briles some uf de bar meat on de coals, streeks uf lean an’ 
lumps uf fat; an’ den w^e sets down an’ shakes hans— me 
an’ Grumbo — ober de sweetest dinner eber et in ol’ Kain- 
tuck. An’ now you say Grumbo got no human feelin’s in 
him. Git out ! ” 

Should any of the wKite hunters choose to hint a doubt 
as to the truth of this story. Big Black Burl had but to 
point to the bear-skin bed in his cabin, on which he slept; 
to the bear-skin rug under the shed at his door, where Grum- 
bo slept by day and watched by night ; to his bear-skin leg- 
gins, his bear-skin hunting-shirt, and bear-skin war-cap — 
and the thing w^as settled and established beyond doubt or 
controversy. 


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Concerning these and the like points Grumbo himself main- 
tained a grim and dignified reserve, never speaking of them 
to common dogs, nor even to his master, excepting when the 
subject was forced upon him; though that was certainly fre- 
quent enough for wholesome airing. Grand, gloomy, and 
peculiar, he sat upon his bear-skin, a maneless lion, wrapped 
in the solitude of his own originality. Aloof from the vul- 
gar pack, he lived and moved and had his being but in the 
atmosphere of the Fighting Nigger, in whose society only 
could he hope to find a little congenial companionship, and 
to whom only he unbosomed the workings of his mighty 
heart. 

Methinks I see him now, with that air of consequence 
and mystery hanging about him, like the fog from his own 
shaggy hide after a winter wetting; with those short ears 
perpetually cocked, as if he felt that his destiny was cast in 
an age and a land where to hunt, kill, and utterly root out 
bears, panthers, wolves, and Indians from the top of the 
earth was the sole end and aim of existence. I see him with 
that great brush of a tail curled tightly — nay, inflexibly — • 
over his right leg, as if his was a will and a spirit not to be 
subdued or shaken by any power less than that irresistible 
and inexorable fate which has declared, and without repeal, 
that “ every dog shall have his day.” All this methinks I 
see, and as vividly too as if I had the living Grumbo be- 
fore my bodily eyes ; for, in the course of his long and event- 
ful career, it grew to be as characteristic of our canine hero 
as, twenty years later, became a little cocked hat, a gray 
great-coat, military boots, and a certain attitude, of that fa- 
mous Corsican, Napoleon the First — commonly, vulgarly, 
bogusly called the Great. 




Chapter VI. 

How Big Black Burl Figured on the War-path 
BY Day. 


H aving followed Big Black Burl to the spot where he 
had last seen his little master, the white hunters made a 
narrow inspection of the Indian traces on the ground, which 
had evidently been left by feet in too great haste for much 
attempt at concealment or disguise. The black hunter then 
set his dog on the trail, who, with that grim fixedness of 
purpose betokened by a certain iron twist of the tail, now 
took the lead, and the chase for life and death began. Thus 
surely led, they followed the trail with rapid ease for about 
two miles, when it was lost in another trail, larger and quite 
as fresh, made, it w^ould seem from the number of foot-prints, 
by at least twenty Indians. This they follow^ed likewise, till 
at the distance of five or six miles farther on in the forest 
it brought them to the banks of a small, shallow river, just 
where it Avas formed by tAVO tributaries, or “forks” as w’e 
Western people call such streams before they unite and pur- 
sue their course together. Here the trail suddenly disap- 
peared ; nor was there any sign of its reappearance on the 
opposite bank, nor, so far as could be seen from that point, 
on the banks of either fork. 

Now, of all the stratagems for baffling pursuit practiced in 
Indian Avarfare, none perhaps are so often resorted to as that 
of w^ading up and doAvn shallow streams, in Avhose beds no 
foot-print may be left that eye of man can discern, or scent 
thereof upon the Av^ater that nose of dog can detect. That 
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the savages they were now pursuing had to this intent 
availed themselves of one or the other of these three streams 
there could be no doubt, but hardly one chance in ten that 
they had chosen the main stream, as that ran in the direc- 
tion of. the settlement, and was, in fact, that self-same little 
river which turned the little log grist-mill at Fort Reynolds, 
eight miles below. It was, then, all but certain that the 
Indians had waded up one of the two forks, whose rocky 
channels wound among a group of low, rugged hills, which 
browed the more level country around the station; but 
which fork had been chosen for the purpose, the most expe- 
rienced hunter of them all was unable to determine, as the 
wily savages had left not a tell-tale trace behind, and the 
two streams seemed equally favorable to the success of the 
stratagem in question. In order, then, to double their 
chances of overtaking the enemy, though it would double the 
odds against themselves should they succeed in doing so, it 
was resolved to divide the party into two squads — each to 
ascend a fork until the trail should reappear upon its 
banks, then to notify the other, when reuniting they would 
again pui-sue the chase together. 

As there was one chance in ten that the Indians — some of 
them at least, and perhaps the very ones who had the little 
captive in custody — had descended the main stream. Big 
Black Burl determined to try the fortunes of war in that 
direction on his own account, feeling quite sure that without 
any further aid of his the white hunters- would be equal to 
any emergency that should arise in their quarter. Besides, 
as we have already seen, the Fighting Nigger usually chose 
to be alone when out on expeditions of this kind, partly be- 
cause his instinct told him that if he would keep in good odor 
with his wRite superiors he must not rub against them more 
than occasion should absolutely demand, but chiefly that 
he might enjoy the undivided honor of the scalps taken by 


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his own hand in war, should such be his good fortune. So, 
making a third squad of himself and dog, the black hunter 
detached himself from the white hunters, and three parties 
set out on their several ways. 

At a signal from his master, understood perfectly by the 
sagacious animal, Grumbo, w’ading and swimming, made 
his way to the opposite side of the river, where, shaking the 
water from his shaggy hide, he turned and at a slow dog-trot 
began following the windings of the shore, keeping his keen 
and practiced nose bent with sharp and critical attention 
upon the ground. Abreast, with the water between them. 
Burl at brisk pace followed the windings of his shore, keep- 
ing his keen and practiced eye bent likewise with sharp and 
critical attention upon the ground, that not a mark or sign 
unusual in grass, leaves, mud, or sand might pass unnoted 
by. At intervals along the banks lay wide beds of solid 
rock, or pebbles mixed with mud or sand, left high and dry 
by the summer shrinking of the stream, w^here the Indians 
might easily have quitted the water without leaving a trace 
perceptible to the eye. At such places Burl would call 
Grumbo over to help the eye with the more unerring nose, 
when, having satisfied themselves that the trail had not yet 
left the water, the dog, swimming and wading, would return 
to his side, and abreast the two go on as before. Thus they 
proceeded till they had searched the banks for nearly a 
mile and the dog had made his third or fourth passage. 
Coming then to a bed of limestone rock which spread 
wide and dry between the edge of the water and the skirts 
of the forest, Grumbo sent over to his master a short, low 
bark, w^hich said to the ear addressed, as plainly as words 
could have said it, “The Red varmints!” Whereat, hav- 
ing satisfied himself that the fording was not more than 
belly-deep to a tall horse. Burl slipped off his moccasins 
and leggins, and rolling up his buckskin breeches till 


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nothing was to be seen below his hunting-shirt but his great 
black legs, now in his turn waded over to the dog’s side 
of the river, sure that here was the place where the In- 
dians had quitted the water and taken again to the woods. 
In a trice he had rearranged his toilet, and now was briskly 
following the unerring Grumbo on the rediscovered trail. 
But for more than fifty yards after quitting the rocky mar- 
gin of the stream, not a sign there could he discern, so art- 
fully had the cunning savages concealed or disguised their 
foot-prints. Cunning as they may have thought themselves, 
it was all as plain to Grumbo’s far-scenting nose as it could 
have been to Burl’s far-sighted eye, and he a reader, had 
they written it in letters on the ground, “ Here we are, and 
here we go.” 

Indeed, they had not advanced more than a hundred 
paces farther, when the traces of three Indians became dis- 
tinctly visible in the leaves and soft vegetable mold of the 
woods — as if they who had left them there had thought that 
as they had thus far so completely concealed their trail they 
might thenceforth proceed with less circumspection, as now 
quite beyond the risk of pursuit. On closely inspecting the 
foot-prints. Burl knew by certain signs — such as the unusual 
slenderness of one and the mark of a patched moccasin in 
the other — that two of them had been left by feet whose traces 
he had examined at the corn-field fence. The third foot- 
print he had not seen that day, he was sure, nor its like 
until that moment, never in all his border experience. It 
was the longest and, excepting his own, the broadest foot- 
print he had ever seen, and must have been left there by the 
tread of a giant. The individual, then, who had captured 
his little master, and had him now in keeping, might not be 
of this party; and so far as concerned the main object of this 
their solitary adventure, they might, after all, be on a cold trail. 
Nevertheless, they pushed on with speed and spirit. They 


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had not proceeded more than a furlong farther, when Grumho 
stopped short, and giving a double sniff uttered a quick, low 
yelp both of surprise and joy, so it seemed, which said, as 
plainly as words could have said it, “Halloo! what ’s this?” 
Then, after another quick sniff or two, looking up at his 
master and expressing himself by wag of tail and glance of 
eye, he added : “ Good luck in the wind ahead.” 

That Grumbo had actually expressed this much may fairly 
be inferred from Burks answer: “O you ’s got a sniff uf our 
pore little master’s sweet little feet, has you, at las’? Well, 
we kin fuller our noses now an’ know whar we gwine.” 

Had Burl needed any interpretation of his dog’s language 
in this particular instance, he would have found it, a few 
yards farther on, in two little foot-prints left clearly im- 
presssed in the clayey margin of a forest brook but a few 
hours before. He stopped to look at them, and his big eyes 
filled with tears of pitying tenderness at the sight. Grum- 
bo, too, smelt of them, and as he slowly drew in the familiar 
scent, his wild eyes grew almost human in their look of 
affection, like those of a Newfoundland. Burl now turned 
to inspect more narrowly the foot-prints of the Indians, 
which were likewise left deeply impressed in the stiff clay 
of the brook’s margin. Nearest to those of the boy’s were 
the traces of the slender-footed Indian, who, in the act of 
taking the long stride that was to clear him of the water, 
seemed to have taken a short step aside to pick the little fel- 
low up and lift him over dry-shod. This was further evi- 
dent from the reappearance of the little foot-prints on the 
other bank, side by side, instead of one in advance of the 
other. Farthest to the left were the traces of the savage 
who wore the patched moccasin. Between them, broad, 
long, and deep, and at huge strides apart, were the foot- 
prints of the giant. At these traces of some redoubtable 
warrior, so it would seem. Big Black Burl, with grave and 


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fixed attention, gazed for many moments. Then, as if to 
bring the dimensions of the savage more vividly before his 
mind’s eye, he measured one of the prints by laying his own 
foot over it, and found that, although not the broader of the 
two, it was the longer, from which it was fairly to be inferred 
that the red giant must be at least seven feet high, standing 
in his moccasins. 

“ Shorely, Grumbo,” said the black hunter, addressing his 
dog, “ it nius’ be dat Black Thunder, de big Injun we hears 
de white hunters talk so much about. Dey say he blacked 
his face wid gunpowder when he fus’ started out a-fightin’, 
an’ ain’t neber gwine to wash it off tel he ’s got ’nough uf 
us white folks’s skelps to rig up his huntin’-shirt an’ make 
it fine. I jes’ as soon de oF Scratch git de grips uf his 
clutches on our little master, as dat Black Thunder. It ’s 
‘you tickle me an’ I tickle you’ betwdxt him an’ de oF 
Scratch. O you oF Black Thunder!” with a sudden burst 
of energy, apostrophizing the absent brave; “jes’ let de 
Fightin’ Nigger git de whites uf his eyes on yo’ red ugliness 
once, he ’ll give you thunder — gunpowder thunder, he will. 
Jes’ let Betsy Grumbo git her muzzle on yo’ red ugliness 
once, may be she won’t bark an’ bite ! May be she won’t 
make yo’ fine feathers fly 1 May be she won’t, now ! O plague 
yo’ red hide I Yug, yug, yug I ” And with this terrible male- 
diction, the black giant shook his mighty fist at the foot- 
prints of the red giant in the mud — Grumbo catching his 
master’s spirit, and giving the echo in a deep savage growl. 

Having lost but a few moments in making these observa- 
tions, with renewed spirit and vigor they resumed the pur- 
suit. Burl now felt confident that the chances of war w^ere 
decidedly in their favor, let them but come upon the enemy 
under screen of night and undiscovered ; and for more than 
this he would not ask, to bring his w^ar-path to a brilliant 
end. Ever and anon, after they trudged on for a mile or 


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two, Grumbo, fetching a harder sniff than usual, would give 
one of his quick, low yelps of satisfaction — when his master 
would know that at such places the Indians, after carrying 
their little captive for some distance, to rest his young limbs 
a bit, had here set him down again to walk. This usually 
happened on their reaching the tops of the higher hills, or 
the heads of the longer and more rugged hollows. When- 
ever they came to where the ground was moist and the trail 
was left distinctly marked, Burl always noticed that the 
boy’s foot-prints were nearest those of the slender-footed In- 
dian, as if they had walked together side by side; and by 
certain signs, similar to those he had observed at the first 
brook, he knew that the same hand had carried the little 
fellow over all the streams which ran across the trail. Noth- 
ing further happened to break the monotony of the tramp 
till, after having left full many a mile of tangled forest be- 
hind them, they came, late in the day, to where, a little to 
one side, lay a dead eagle, stripped of its magnificent plum- 
age. Burl turned it over, and perceiving that the bullet- 
wound which had caused its death was still fresh and open, 
he knew that the bird had been brought down but a few 
hours before. Here again, clearly to be distinguished from 
those of the others, were to be seen the traces of the boy and 
the slender-footed Indian, still side by side, and going out to 
the dead eagle, where they were repeated many times, as if 
these two had lingered around the fallen monarch of the 
air, while the others w^alked slowly onward. 

Now the sun was gliding swiftly down the steep slopes of 
the western sky, and long and somber stretched the shadows 
of the hills across the lonely, unhomed valleys of the im- 
mense wilderness. Full many an irksome mile of bushy 
dell and rocky hill and forest-crested ridge lay traversed 
and searched behind them ; untraversed and unsearched, lay 
as many more before them. Where should the weary little 


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feet find rest in the night now coming on? The little birds 
had their nests, the little squirrels their holes: should the 
forlorn little captive find where to lay his head in those in- 
hospitable wilds? And far away, at the door of her deso- 
late home, still sat the widowed mother, waiting and watch- 
ing, her eyes turned ever toward the perilous north. And 
there, at the foot of the hill, the little log grist-mill, making 
the little log fort yet sadder and lonesomer every hour, still 
went on humming and droning its dolorous tune — a tune 
whose burden seemed ever to be, “What a pity! what a 
pity I what a pity ! ” 


Chapter VH. 

How Big Black Burl Figured on the AVar-path 
BY Night. 


B y this time the sun was almost down. Since early morn- 
ing, not a morsel of food had Burlman Reynolds tasted, 
excepting the solid inch of bacon at dinner-time, which, as 
he had bolted it half unknown to himself at the moment, 
and in his trouble of mind had long since forgotten, could 
hardly have had more effect in breaking his fast than had 
he merely dreamed of eating^ a meal. A gnawing sensation 
under his belt now began to warn him that it was high time 
he should be ministering to the wants of the inner man. 
Aware that while out on the war-path he could not safely 
trust to the tell-tale rifle for procuring food, he had, with the 
foresight of a true warrior, fortified himself against future 
need, by slipping into his ammunition-pouch, on quitting 
the fort, a double handful of jerked venison. So, making 
answer at last to the call of hunger — sons of Ebony are not 
wont to be tardy in answ^ering such calls — he drew out his 
prog, and without abating his speed, lest time be lost, min- 
istered to the inner man as he w^alked along. Nor did his 
four-footed comrade-in-arms — who had an inner man also, 
or rather inner dog, to be ministered to likewise — fail to re- 
ceive a liberal share of the store in hand. AVhat was offered 
him, Grumbo took and ate grimly, without any show of rel- 
ish or satisfaction — merely, so it would seem, as something not 
to be well dispensed with under the circumstances ; perhaps 
as a valuable means to the end they jointly had in view. 

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Our two adventurers had not finished their pedestrian 
supper till the sun was set and twilight stealing on apace, 
deepening with its glimmering shades the dusky shadows of 
the wilderness. Soon it was too dark for the trail to be 
seen ; nevertheless, they pushed on with unabated speed, the 
hunter following his dog, the dog following his nose. A 
dog’s nose may be followed, and nobody made the victim of 
misplaced confidence ; and this is more than can be said of 
a man’s nose, which is always sure to be at fault from a 
cold, or out of joint in some way, w^hen the owner has noth- 
ing better to guide him. 

The black hunter now moved with greater circumspec- 
tion — lest stumbling upon the enemy unawares, thus warn- 
ing them of their danger, he should cheat himself of the 
chances of war, which he could hope to hold in his favor so 
long as he had concealment and secrecy on his side. So, 
while the dog followed the invisible trail, he followed the 
scarcely visible dog — kept a sharp lookout about him, ex- 
pecting every moment to catch the gleam of the Indian 
camp-fire from among the trees. But, as if to render secu- 
rity doubly secure, the savages seemed bent on making a 
long day’s tramp of it, before allowing themselves to halt 
for refreshment and repose. 

At length the night was full upon them, with no light to 
guide them through those trackless solitudes save the feeble 
glimmer of the stars through the openings in the tree-tops ; 
still not a sign of the flying foe, whose unseen trail went 
evermore winding wearily on through the tangled wilds. 
Now and then, from some distant quarter of the forest, were 
to be heard the howling of wolves, abroad on their nightly 
hunt. Then from an opposite quarter, but nearer, the dis- 
mal whoopings of the horned owl would send their quaver- 
ing echoes creeping among the tree-tops, which, swaying to 
the night winds, filled the air with noises, like half-formed 


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whispers in the ear. Then the shrill cry of the dingle-am- 
bushed panther would ring out through the black stillness, 
like the shriek of a terrified woman. 

At one time, hardly had these sounds of evil omen died 
away, when, on a sudden, there started up before them a 
tall shape, with long arms outstretched, and all of a ghastly 
whiteness. The black giant stopped short, fixedly staring 
before him — all in an instant w^eak as a limber-jack, the 
whites of his 6yes showing through the dark like half-moons. 
The thing, there dimly seen in the dusk of the overhanging 
trees, was, as superstitious, fancy pictured it to the eyes of 
Burlman Reynolds, the ghost of a white hunter who had 
been murdered and scalped in that lonely spot by the bar- 
barous Indians, and now, in his cold, cold winding-sheet, w^as 
lingering around his bones, till some kind soul should come 
along that way and give the precious relics Christian burial. 

Now, had Burlman Reynolds taken the second thought, 
he might have known that, even had a white man been mur- 
dered there, and left on top of the ground, his ghost would 
hardly be so unreasonable as to choose an hour so unseason- 
able for making such an appeal to the living in behalf of 
the bones ; seeing it would be impossible to find the bones in 
the darkness, covered up as they must be by leaves and 
grass, as bones usually are under the circumstances — per- 
haps scattered far and wide by the wolves, as bones are apt 
to be, if left exposed to ravenous animals of the kind. All 
this, not to mention the slender likelihood that any one 
should be coming along that w^ay with a spade and pick-ax, 
at that time of night, and so far from the settlements. Fur- 
ther, had Burlman Reynolds taken the third thought, he 
might have known that even had the ghost of a slain hunter 
been encountered then and there, he should be found taking 
his nightly airing in a buckskin hunting-shirt, rather than 
in a winding-sheet; woven fabrics of all kinds being still 


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very scarce and dear in the Paradise, Irish linen especially. 
Though the saying was often in his mouth, Burlman Rey- 
nolds did sometimes fail to bear in mind that “dare’s reason 
in all things.” But soon bethinking him of his usual shift 
for reassurance on such occasions — his touch-stone, so to 
speak — Burl turned to note what impression this grizzly 
shade of the night was making on the steadfast mind of 
Grumbo. The dog w^as composedly waiting for him a few 
yards in advance ; his nose, that infallible index of what was 
in the wind, turned straight before him in the direction of 
real dangers, not of imaginary horrors, which — let them be 
met with where they might — were rather to be sneezed at 
than sniffed at. Whereat the black giant picked up heart 
enough to pick up a club and fling it at the ghastly appari- 
tion, half expecting to see the missile pass through without 
impediment, as missiles are wont to do under circumstances of 
the kind. But the club was checked by substance as solid 
as itself, the result being a sounding thump. Thereupon, 
eyes and ears comparing notes, it was discovered that the 
thing of dread was nothing more than the twisted and splin- 
tered* stump of a storm-felled hickory-tree, the white sap- 
wood whereof had been stripped of its bark by lightning. 

“ Pshaw ! what a fool you is. anyhow, Burlman Rennuls ! ” 
cried the Fighting Nigger, fetching the individual addressed 
a heavy blow of the fist on the breast. “ Sich a everlastin’ 
ol’ fool, always a gittin’ our nose out o’ j’int somehow, you 
do n’t know how ; an’ skeerin’ at somethin’ you do n’t know 
what, that even a dog won’t stop to smell at. Git out an’ 
g’ ’long! ” And smarting under this stinging rebuke, the un- 
lucky Burlman Reynolds hastened to rejoin his dog, who, 
doubtless, was wondering why his two-footed comrade should 
all on a sudden become so intensely interested in a splintered 
stump. 

Just here, I am reminded to say a few words with regard 


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to a certain trait in our hero’s character — a trait not unfre- 
quently to be noticed in men of his color, but which, so 
far as I am aware, has never been made matter of particular 
comment. Viewing himself from a point within himself, 
Big Black Burl was wont to look at himself as made up of 
two distinct individuals, who though having their home in 
the same body, using the same limbs, and taking their ob- 
servations of the outward world through the same senses, 
were yet in his eyes quite different each from the other. 
One of these individuals was called the “Fighting Nigger,” 
the other went by the name of “Burlman Reynolds.” The 
Fighting Nigger was a man of great distinction, Burlman 
Reynolds a fellow of small repute. When the two distin- 
guished themselves, the Fighting Nigger claimed the lion’s 
share of the glory ; but when they disgraced themselves, then 
Burlman Reynolds must take the dog’s share of the blame. 
Now, this petting and humoring had spoiled the Fighting 
Nigger not a little, making him arrogant and overbearing 
Avith his humbler self, even to the extent at times of a threat 
to kick him bodily out-of-doors. But Burlman Reynolds, 
the best-natured fellow in the world, perfectly understood 
Avhat all this fuming and puffing meant, and only laughed 
in his sleeve thereat, knowing as Avell as anybody that aftei 
all the Fighting Nigger Avas very much of a big humbug. 

Hardly had they recovered their Avonted balance after 
this, the mere shade of an adventure, Avhen the Fighting 
Nigger and Burlman Reynolds AA^ere again brought to a 
stand by an apparition of quite a different complexion. 
Less than twenty yards above them, on the side of a hill 
they Avere noAv ascending, stood a dense thicket of Ioaa^ bushes, 
the ragged edge of Avhich shoAA^ed in dim relief against the 
sky. Suddenly had risen and vanished, and noAv suddenly 
rose and vanished again, A\Fat appeared to be the plumed 
crests of three Indians, who A\'ere AA^atching the black hunt- 


Burl. 


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er’s approach, by fitful glimpses, from behind their place of 
ambush. Dodging to one side behind a tree, the black giant 
cocked his gun and planted himself firm and square on his 
moccasins, this time as strong and sturdy from head to foot 
as a black-jack oak. Thtse real dangers, that might be met 
and vanquished with powder, lead, and steel, had far less 
terrors for the Fighting Nigger than such empty shades of 
the night as but now had sprung out at him from the foggy 
fancy of Burlman Reynolds. ^ But quickly bethinking him- 
self again of his dog, his touch-stone in every emergency 
where his own senses were at fault, he cautiously peeped out 
from behind the tree. Perceiving again that Grumbo was 
waiting for him with wonted composure, as if there was 
nothing in the wind to sniff* at, the Fighting Nigger was 
reassured, convinced that the eyes and fancy of Burlman 
Reynolds had played him another trick. What he had seen 
proved in reality nothing more than a leafy shrub, swayed 
up and down by the night winds. 

For many minutes past, the unseen trail had been leading 
them up the brushy side of a long, slow hill, to whose sum- 
mit a few more weary steps now brought them. Here, for 
for the first time since the chase had begun, the brindled dog 
came to a halt of his own accord — stopping short, with a 
deep, heavy growl, scarce louder than the purr of a panther. 
Burl looked before him and caught from afar the glimmer 
of a camp-fire, burning on the summit of an opposite hill. 
They had, indeed, at last come up with the flying foe, but 
under circumstances far less favorable to the execution of 
his plans than he had all along been proposing to himself 
The camp-fire was blazing brightly, as if it had just been 
kindled, or replenished with fresh fuel. Around it the sav- 
ages were moving to and fro, as could be seen by the shad- 
ows of their bodies cast by the light, and, so far from 
having betaken themselves to rest, were chatting away in 
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high good humor, as might be guessed from their peals of 
laughter borne faintly to the ear from over the valley lying 
dark and deep between. 

Aware that as matters stood at present the odds would be 
too largely against him to allow of his bringing his advent- 
ure to a crisis just then, Burl wisely resolved to wait till the 
savages, overcome at last by fatigue, should yield themselves 
up to slee]) — when, according to the plan already cast in his 
mind, he would steal upon them, and by the light of their 
own fire dispatch them with hatchet and knife, as noiselessly 
as might be, one after another in quick succession, before 
they could awake. But in order to fortify himself against 
desperate resistance, should it come, he would himself take a 
little refreshment and repose, the need of which, now that the 
long chase had come to a pause, he felt beginning to press 
sorely upon him ; accordingly, he retired within the shadow 
of a spreading elm, which offered in its thick foliage shelter 
from the dews of night, and in its mossy roots pillowing for 
his head. Here, placing himself on the ground with his back 
against the tree, he ate a few more slices of the jerked veni- 
son — Grumbo, of course, receiving a comrade’s share. Then, 
stretching his huge length along the ground and bidding his 
dog stand sentinel while he slept, he composed himself to 
rest — not doubting, son of Ebony though he was, but that he 
could easily rouse himself before day-break, when, God will- 
ing, he would work deliverance to his little master. And 
there lay Big Black Burl asleep on his war-path. 


Chapter Vlll. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in a Quandary. 

A broad red glare, striking full upon his closed eyelids, 
and bringing with it the alarming thought that Fort 
Reynolds had been set on fire by an army of besieging In- 
dians, roused Big Black Burl from the deepest, heaviest sleep 
he had ever known. With a huge start he had scrambled 
to his feet, and, blinded by the glare, was rushing out of his 
cabin, so he thought, to rescue Miss Jemima and Bushie from 
the flames, when his foot striking something soft and bulky, 
down with a tremendous squelch he fell to the ground. 
The next moment, now wide-awake, he saw that he had 
stumbled over his trusty sentinel Grumbo — when all the rest 
struck like a lightning flash upon his mind, fell like a thun- 
derbolt upon his heart. Sad, sad to tell, the night, the 
friendly night, like a slighted ally, was gone; and with it 
the golden chance for vengeance to the warrior, deliverance 
to the captive. The day, the unwished for, the tinprayed 
for, the most unwelcome day, like a challenged foe, had 
come; and with it new perils, tenfold risk of failure and 
disaster. “O Burlman Reynolds, born of Ebony as thou 
wert, how couldst thou so far lose sight of the besetting 
weakness of thy race, as thus, in a moment like this, on the 
criticM edge of hazard and hope, to trust thy limbs and 
senses to«the deceitful embraces of sleep? Black sluggard, 
avaunt! The Fighting Nigger be upon thee!” 

Full of the bitterest self-reproach, and with a feeling of 
disappointment bordering on despair. Burl looked bewilder- 

(07) 


G8 


Burl. 


ingly about him. The newly risen sun, as if taunting him 
with the sorry miscarriage of his well-laid plans, was wink- 
ing at him wdth its great impertinent eye, from over the 
hairy shoulder of a giant hill, upon whose shaggy head 
stood smiling the beautiful first of June. Curling up lightly 
into the clear morning air, from out a clump of lofty trees 
which plumed the crest of the opposite hill, rose a slender 
column of smoke, betokening the Indians already astir, and 
busy about their breakfast over the rekindled camp-fire. 
Observing this, and that he was running some risk of being 
discovered — if he had not betrayed himself already — Burl 
slunk back into a thicket of papaw bushes which grew a 
a few paces behind him, whence, with safety he might re- 
connoiter the enemy, and acquaint himself with the nature 
of the neighboring grounds, if peradventure they must be 
made the field of present operations. 

At his feet, and putting an air-line of about four hundred 
yards between his hill and the more commanding height 
where the Indians were camped, ran a beautiful little valley, 
having its head among a cluster of lofty hills, about two 
miles to the eastward, and open to view for about the same 
distance to the westward, where it lost itself among another 
cluster of hills. Its sides sloped smoothly down to the banks 
of a smaAl but deeply bedded river, which, though a stream 
of considerable volume during the winter, was now so 
drought-shrunken as at intervals to ripple over its rocky 
bottom, filling the valley with pleasant murmurings, audi- 
ble from the tops of the hills around. The slopes, for a mile 
above and below, were nearly bare of trees, being cove^d 
instead with a luxuriant growth of blue-grass, the peculiar 
green whereof was relieved with pleasing effect by the rich 
purple bloom of the iron- weed, which in dense patches mot- 
tled all the glade. If we may except the grass and iron- 
weeds, which grew everywhere, and the clump of trees from 


Burl. 


69 


out of which was rising the smoke of the Indian camp-fire, 
the opposite hill showed a bare front, and sloped steeply, but 
smoothly, to the edge of the river, where it was snubbed 
short by an overleaning bank twenty feet high. 

To Big Black Burl, as a game-hunter, this valley-glade, 
with its verdant slopes, affording the richest pasturage to the 
wild herds of the forest, would have been a right delectable 
prospect ; but to him as an Indian-hunter, it was a sight dis- 
heartening enough, running, as it did, square across his war- 
path, and seeming to offer scarce the shadow of a shade for an 
ambush, without which it would be desperation itself to push 
the adventure to the perilous edge. Judging from the gen- 
eral direction he had traveled since quitting Fort Keynolds, 
and from the length of time it had taken him to reach that 
spot, he guessed that he must be within a very few miles of 
the Ohio Biver — and if he suffered the savages to put that 
broad barrier between themselves and pursuit, scarcely one 
chance in a thousand could be left of his ever being able to 
overtake them and rescue his little master. Now, or never, 
must be struck the telling blow. But how? 

At one moment he felt an impulse — so desperate seemed 
the case — to dash across the open valley, and scaling the 
untimbered height, right in the face of the watchful foe, open 
a way of deliverance to his little master; or, failing in the 
attempt, bring life to the bitter end at once. But this was 
a thought not worth the second thinking. And in another 
moment he had nearly determined to make a wide circuit, 
in order to gain the rear of the enemy’s stronghold. Per- 
haps by bursting suddenly on them from that unexpected 
quarter, he and Grumbo, by the very strangeness, not to say 
terribleness, of their aspect, with their mingled bowlings 
and yellings, might strike the Indians with such a panic as 
to send them scampering, helter-skelter, down the hill, with 
never a glance behind them to see what manner of varmints 


r 


70 Burl, 

they had at their heels: — a man, or bogey, or devil. Thus, by 
a bloodless victory, might they accomplish the chief object 
of their adventure — the rescue of their little master; though, 
to the Fighting Nigger’s taste, a victory without blood were 
but as a dram without alcohol, gingerbread without ginger, 
dancing w ithout fiddling — insipid entertainment. This brill- 
iant stratagem, smacking more of Burlman Keynolds’s lively 
fancy than of the Fighting Nigger’s slower judgment, was 
another thought scarce worth the second thinking. After 
all their trouble, they might gain the rear of the enemy’s 
hill only to find the camp deserted, the Indians by that 
time well into their canoes, far out on the broad Ohio, pad- 
dling peacefully for “ home, sw^eet home.” Or, finding the 
enemy still there, they might not find the woods and thick- 
ets to ambush in and burst out from in the startling, over- 
whelming manner proposed, as the back of the hill might be 
as bare of trees and bushes as the grassy breast before him. 

What, then, was to be done? O that treacherous, that 
thievish sleep, which had robbed him of his golden chancel 
Should he perish in the attempt to rescue his little master, 
what a sad account should he have to render the deadTather 
of the sacred trust confided to him under a promise so sol- 
emn and binding! Or, should his little master, in spite of 
his utmost efforts, be borne away into lasting captivity, how 
could he return to tell the widowed mother that she was 
childless, though the dear one, henceforth to be mourned as 
dead, had not yet gone to the dead father? O that he 
had not slept ! And with the big tears in his eyes, bespeak- 
ing the dumb anguish of his heart, the poor fellow turned 
to take another and a seventh survey of the valley, if haply 
he might not spy out some feature of the ground which, 
hitherto unnoted and favoring concealment, might enable 
him, without too great risk of detection, to come at the en- 
emy and the dear object of his adventure. 


Burl. 


71 


The seventh essay — as the seventh essay so often does — 
resulted in bringing the fortunate turn. Suddenly a look, 
first of recognition, then of glad surprise, made light all 
over that huge black face. Fetching his thigh, a mighty 
blow of the fist, the Fighting Nigger, abruptly and in the 
niost peremptory manner, called upon Burlman Eeynolds, 
that “sleepy-headed of dog,” to come up and report what 
he had been doing all this time with “dem eyes o’ his’n.*” 
Failing to render satisfactory account, that “eber lastin’ ol’ 
fool” was taken severely to task by his superior, and or- 
dered to hand over the organs in question to somebody — the 
Fighting Nigger, say — who could use them to some purpose, 
and find for himself, instead, a “pa’r uf specs.” Smarting 
under these biting sarcasms, Burlman Reynolds, that “ blare- 
eyed ol’ granny,” retired to the back part of the house to 
keep as much as possible out of the way, while the Fighting 
Nigger, having now the undivided use of “ our eyes,” pro- 
ceeded to look about them, if haply something might not yet 
be done to straighten “our nose,” which that “ balky ol’ dog” 
had run into the wrong hole and got knocked out of joint. 

The particular object which had caught Burl’s eye was a 
mammoth sycamore-tree which, with two huge white arms 
outstretched, as if to embrace a graceful beech directly in 
front of it, overhung the mouth of a glen on the opposite 
side of the valley. This tree, by its peculiarities of form 
and situation, had served to call up in his mind a train of 
recollections which told him that he had seen that valley- 
glade before — though, up to this moment, in his trouble and 
confusion of mind, the remembrance of the circumstance 
had been dodging in and out of his memory like a half-for- 
gotten dream. All was now as clear as the unwelcome day- 
light. Three or four years before he had visited this spot 
with a company of white hunters, who, with Captain Ken- 
ton for their leader, had come thither on a hunting excur- 


72 


B URL. 


sion, and for more than a week had kindled their camp-fire 
at night on the self-same hill where now was burning that 
of the Indians whose footsteps he was dogging. The mam- 
moth sycamore he had the best of reasons to remember, for 
just there, round and round its great hollow trunk, over 
and over its great gnarled roots, he had then fought the 
biggest bear-fight of all his hunting experience — forever ex- 
cepting the one wherein Grumbo had proved himself a dog 
of “ human feelin’s.” 

From the acquaintance with the neighboring country 
which that excursion had enabled him to make. Burl knew 
that the glen marked by the leaning sycamore ran in but 
about two hundred yards between the opposite hills, where 
it divided itself into two prongs, the more easterly one of 
which led up to a deep, dark dingle in the very core of the 
enemy’s hill. On that side, as he remembered, the hill was 
heavily timbered and thicketed, thus offering excellent cov- 
ert for ambush almost to the summit. With this discovery, 
or rather reawakening in his mind of what he knew already, 
came a clearer perception of his surroundings, so that - he 
could now see hoAv, without great risk of discovery, he could 
gain the bottom of the valley by availing himself of a shal- 
low gulley which, furroAving the slope to his left, and fringed 
Avith grass and iron-weeds, ran doAvn to the bank of the riv- 
er. A similar feature in the ground on the farther side 
Avould favor him in gaining the mouth of the glen. He noAV 
felt that his chances Avere again coming Avithin the limits of 
the possible ; and for more than this — so fair did it seem, in 
contrast Avith the apparent hopelessness of the prospect but a 
fcAV moments before — he would not ask, to brave the advent- 
ure to the crisis, still bristling, as it was, Avith neck-or-noth- 
ing hazards. Let them but succeed in reaching, undiscov- 
ered, the shelter of yonder glen, and all might yet go well 
with Burlman Reynolds and the Fighting Nigger. 


Chapter IX. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in Ambush. 

B idding Grumbo follow, our hero once more set his face 
point-blank to his adventure. Keeping a sharp eye on 
the enemy’s height, he began making his way down the gul- 
ley into the valley — screening his movements, as best he 
might, where the gulley was too shallow to conceal him, by 
w^alking along in a stooping posture behind the weeds, or 
creeping along upon his belly through the grass ; Grumbo, 
with great circumspection, doing likewise. In a surprisingly 
short time, considering this somewhat inconvenient mode of 
getting over ground, they had made their way to the hither 
bank of the river. But here they found themselves once more 
brought to a stand. Directly in front, as Burl ascertained 
by throwing in a pebble and noting the length of time between 
its sinking and the bubble’s rising, the stream was almost, if not 
quite, six feet deep. To wade across, then go in battle with 
his garments all soaked and heavy with water — a serious hin- 
derance, as this must be, to the free and lightsome play of 
his limbs — were but to give the nimble foe yet another ad- 
vantage over him, desperate being the odds already. To be 
sure, not more than a hundred yards below the river was so 
shallow as to ripple over the rocks, where he might easily 
make the fording all but dry-shod. But there he would be 
in open view of the Indians, should they chance to be look- 
ing that way ; whereas, by making the passage from where 
he was standing, he could throw between himself and them 
a small cane-brake, which crowned the opposite bank a short 

( 73 ) 


74 


B URL, 


distance above. Far rather had the Fighting Nigger gone 
into the dance of death, rigged out in all his martial bravery 
— his moccasins, his bear-skin leggins, his bear-skin hunting- 
shirt, his bear-skin war-cap, and his war-belt wdth its gleaming 
death-steel — guise so well beseeming the Big Black Brave 
with a bushy head. But in a game so desperate, with ob- 
jects so precious and dear at stake, the indulgence of so 
small a vanity were another thought not wmrth the second 
thinking. Therefore did the magnanimous Burl dismantle 
himself at once. Aware that, in the coming contest, he 
should barely have time to let fly the single bullet already 
in his rifle, when he must take to his hatchet and knife, and 
that thereafter his powder-horn and ammunition-pouch 
would be but hindering encumbrances, he divested himself 
of these appendages, also laying with them his moccasins, 
leggins, and hunting-shirt, in a pile together on the river 
bank. The next moment, with Grumbo swimming, hand over 
hand, close at his side, he was half w^ay across the river, with 
nothing of him visible above the dimpled surface but his enor- 
mous bear-skin cap, and his right arm holding Betsy Grumbo 
high aloft to keep her priming dry. 

The passage swimmingly effected, our two adventurers 
made their reappearance on the opposite bank, with their 
bulky dimensions brought down by their wetting to some- 
what lanker proportions — Grumbo with his shaggy coat but- 
toned close about him, Burl with his buckskin shirt and 
breeches clinging clammily to his body and limbs. But of 
his martial rigging, the war-belt, with his tomahawk and 
hunting-knife, still remained; the bear-skin war-cap, too, 
which once rammed down firmly upon his head was never 
to quit that place, saving with the scalp it covered, or with 
the successful winding up of his adventure. 

Between him and the mouth of the glen lay a narrow 
strip of bottom land, the crossing of which, overhung as it 


Burl, 


75 


was by the very nose of the enemy’s lookout, would de- 
mand his utmost caution and address. Again availing them- 
selves of gully, weeds, and grass, to screen their movements, 
and making their way through them as before, they suc- 
ceeded at length in gaining, undiscovered, the shelter of the 
glen. Here, under the overhanging hill, Burl could walk 
upright, and that for the first time since quitting the oppo- 
site rim of the valley, if we may except when chin-deep in 
water he was fording the river. Down the glen, with twisted 
current winding crookedly among the rocks, came bubbling 
a little brook, thus serving to muffle the sound of the black 
hunter’s footsteps, as now with swift and powerful strides he 
ascended into the depths of the hills. When he came to 
where the two ravines united to form the larger glen, he took 
the more easterly one, which, as before remarked, led up to 
a dingle just under the height where the Indians ’were camped. 
For some distance back the trees and bushes, reappearing, 
had growm gradually thicker and thicker, till here they 
shagged the side of the hill with deep and tangled shade. 
So Burl found the covert which he had promised himself 
for a place of ambush — a shade profound as night, through 
'which, with snake-like secrecy, he could crawl to within hiss- 
ing distance of the enemy, and before discovery all but bite 
his heel. 

“ Down, Grumbo ! ” said the black hunter in a deep under- 
tone to his dog, not daring to trust him further in the ad- 
venture till he had brought it to the critical edge. “You 
wait here tell you hears me holler, den come a-pitchin’, an’ 
let yo’se’f in like de bery oV Scratch, an’ no stoppin’ to smell 
noses. Do you hear?” 

The sagacious animal, as if perfectly understanding what 
was said to him, and what his part of the work in hand was 
to be, crouched down like a lion in the dark shadows of the 
dingle, there to wait until he should hear his master’s call. 


76 


Burl, 


Then tightening his belt to make his knife and hatchet more 
secure, and reassuring himself that Betsy Grumbo was in 
tip-top “bitin’ jorder,” our hero addressed himself to the 
scaling of the enemy’s height. Half the ascent accomplished 
brought him almost to the brow of the hill, where its slower 
slope abruptly ended in the steep acclivity which he had 
just scaled, and here he could distinguish a faint murmur of 
voices from above. He was slowly bringing himself over 
the turn between precipice and slope, when a large stone, 
from which but now he had lifted his foot, supposing it to be 
the projecting corner of a ledge, slid slowly from its earthly 
socket, and with resounding din went rolling down the steep. 
Whereat the murmur of voices above him suddenly ceased, 
but with admirable presence of mind, while yet the excited- 
echoes were noising the thing from hill to hill, the black 
hunter, to mislead the minds of the Indians as to the cause 
of the uproar, mimicked the snarling growl of a wolf Then 
he lay perfectly still for several moments, not daring to 
venture farther till assured that his cunning device had suc- 
ceeded. After a brief space of silence, which seemed to be 
spent in listening, the murmur of voices above him recom- 
menced, when he likewise recommenced his stealthy ap- 
proaches. When he had advanced so far as to be no longer 
able to walk upright without risk of discovery, he threw 
himself prone on the ground, and like a black-snake went 
crawling along on his belly, inch by inch, foot by foot, yard 
by yard, warily, noiselessly, slowly — his rifle laid along the 
hollow of his back. Thus painfully had he worked his way 
for more than forty yards, w^hen he found himself, almost 
unawares, at the very edge of his covert. Here,' peering 
through the leafy chinks, he could plainly see the enemy, 
whose footsteps he had so long been dogging. 

Yes, there they were — the three Indians — not twenty 
paces from Betsy Grumbo’s muzzle. Breakfast by this time 


B URL. 


77 


ended, they were composedly smoking their pipes, and, for 
Indians, chatting away quite socially, as if in no hurry to be 
off on their day’s tramp. The giant — for such in fact he 
proved to be — whose foot-prints Burl had so gravely scanned 
along the trail, was sitting on the ground at the foot of a 
tree ; while over against him, with the now smoldering camp- 
fire between, were his two comrades, seated on opposite ends 
of a log. A little to one side lay a slain buck, upon whose 
flesh they had supped the evening before and breakfasted 
this morning. Against the log, leant side by side, between 
the two smaller Indians, rested their three rifles ; while their 
hatchets, of which they had freed themselves to he the more 
at their ease, were sticking deeply sunk into the tree above 
the giant’s head — their scalping-knives being the only weap- 
ons retained about their persons. The giant, a savage of 
terrible aspect, was dressed in complete Indian costume — his 
robe being richly decorated with bead-work and stained por- 
cupine quills, and where it show^ed a seam or border was 
fringed with scalp-locks, brown, flaxen, and red, as well 
as black — taken by his own hand from the heads of his en- 
emies — the last agony j doubtless, as the fashions had it among 
the swells in his quarter of the world. Similar to this, ex- 
cepting the agony, and that it was newer and fresher, was 
the dress worn by the Indian who occupied the farther end 
of the log ; and when we add that the heads of both were all 
waving with the gorgeous plumage of the eagle, we can eas- 
ily fancy that the appearance of these two must have been 
rather splendid and imposing. Quite the reverse, however, 
as regarded the third savage, who in a recent foray into the 
white settlements, having contrived to get his pilfering hands 
on a new broadcloth coat, with bright metal buttons, and 
a ruffled shirt, had added these two pieces of civilized finery 
to his Indian gear — thus imparting to his whole appearance, 
which had else been wild, at least, and picturesque, an air 


78 


B URL. 


exceedingly raw, repulsive, and shabby. To be sure, inhar- 
moniousness of contrast was beginning to be a little subdued 
by the dirt and grease of the wearer’s own laying on, the 
coat being no longer glossy and sky-blue, the shirt no longer 
starchy and snow-white. Yet, notwithstanding his love for 
Christian finery, the red heathen could hardly have had 
much love for Christian people, as was evident from the fair- 
haired scalps which hung at his girdle ; and altogether he was 
as ugly and ferocious-looking a barbarian as you would care 
to encounter on your war-path^ should glory ever lead you 
to travel such a road. 

But Bushie — where was poor little Bushie all this time? 
Bouncf hand and foot to a tree hard by, with scarcely free- 
dom sufficient to draw his breath or wdnk his eyes, his face 
all blanched with the despair of a captive awaiting, in ago- 
nizing suspense, the hour of final and terrible doom— all as 
dismal apprehension had been picturing it for the last eight- 
een hours to the distressingly ingenious fancy of Burlman 
Reynolds? 0 by no means! True it was, our little mas- 
ter was there, and a captive. True, that since our last 
glimpse of him, where perched he sat on the topmost rail of 
the corn-field fence back yonder, he had taken many a piti- 
ful, heart-broken cry, whenever the loved faces and familiar 
sights of home had risen with sudden vividness before his 
remembrance. But just at this moment, having followed 
up a sound night’s sleep with a hearty breakfast of venison, 
he seemed, like the healthy, stout-hearted urchin he was, to 
have made up his mind not only to look, but keep, on the 
bright side of things-— =the best way in the world of dodging 
the “ slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Without the 
mark of a buffalo-thong on ankle or wrist, to tell of captivity, 
the little man was running about the hill, to all appearance as 
he list — his moving shadow dodging hither and thither, as if it 
were a long-legged, short-bodied goblin quizzically mocking 


B URL, 


79 


his motions, or playing at hide-and-seek with him among the 
trees and bushes. But Burl observed that the dear little fel- 
low, though left to his freedom, never came nigh the giant, nor 
the grim savage in the ruffled shirt and blue coat, but always 
kept nearest to him who sat on the farther end of the log — 
the youngest of the three Indians, quite youthful indeed, 
and of form and face exceedingly pleasing and noble. In 
fact, between the young brave and the little captive a friend- 
ly and familiar understanding seemed to have sprung up al- 
ready ; for wfflile the giant and other savage talked together, 
these two kept up a lively confab between themselves, which, 
as neither could understand a word the other was saying, 
must have been highly entertaining and edifying to both. 
A few minutes before, while playing about the hill, Bushie 
had found an old stone hatchet, and picking it up, had 
brought it to his red friend to have him fit a handle to it, 
which the young brave, with mingled pity and good humor,, 
was now busy in doing — the edifying interchange of thought 
and sentiment never ceasing for a moment. Had Burl needed 
any further proof of the gentle, even indulgent kindness 
with which his little master had been treated — at least by 
the young Indian — there it was to be seen in the little coon- 
skin cap, stuck thicker than even the giant’s scalp-lock with 
the gorgeous plumes of the war-bird. 

All this, that has taken so long to describe, it took Burl 
but a glance of the eye to discern, and as quickly to form his 
plan of attack. In the first place, he must, with the one 
bullet already in his gun, dispatch the two Indians who sat 
on the log. This advantage gained, he should, he felt con- 
fident, then be able to cope with the giant on equal terms, 
full six inches taller though he seemed to be where he sat 
just there, so composedly smoking his war-pipe — not to men- 
tion his being freshly victualed withal. But in order to 
deal this double blow, he needs must shift his ground, so as 


o 


80 


B URL. 


to bring himself on a line with the two smaller Indians — a 
movement, which to execute under the very skirts of a 
quick-eared foe, would put him up to all the cunning and 
skill he was master of. Nevertheless, for the sake of the 
great advantage it might give him, he would risk the attempt. 
Between where he was and the point he must gain the thick- 
et was thin ; so, silently, slowly, he backed himself — feet fore- 
most — into his covert again, thrice his length or more, then 
veering aw^ay to the right, he began — head foremost — mak- 
ing his second approach. On regaining the edge of the 
thicket, he found the savages as he had left them, five min- 
utes before — the two smaller Indians on the log, and now on 
the same dead-line with himself — so nicely had he calcu- 
lated the distances. Then taking his gun from his back — 
where all this time it had lain — he raised himself slowly to 
one knee, and cautiously thrusting his weapon through the 
leafy twigs before him, took deliberate aim at the body of 
the grim savage. His finger was already on the trigger, 
ready to give the fatal pull, when Bushie plumped himself 
down on the log beside the young Indian, thus bringing his 
own little body in the same line with the deadly missile, 
which in an instant more would have come w^hizzing out of 
the thicket. With a disappointed shake of the head Burl 
slowly lowered his piece, to wait till the little boy, led by 
his wayward humor, should quit the perilous seat. But, 
becoming the more interested in what was doing for his 
amusement — now that the hatchet w^as nearly ready for 
him — Bushie seemed in no haste to quit the place. What 
if the savages should shift their position? — then indeed the 
signal advantage he now held, and had been at so much 
pains and had run so much risk to secure, would be lost, 
and the Fighting Nigger again reduced to desperate straits. 
Would the boy never move? And waiting and watching, 
Big Black Burl lay close in ambush. 


Chapter X. 


How Big Black Burl Figured in the Fight. 
ILL the boy never move? To the black hunter, there 



JLJL lying in ambush, the suspense was becoming all but in- 
supportable. With an interest far more intense than that 
of the boy did he watch the nimble fingers of the young 
Indian, as the whittling task went on — the heavy-footed sec- 
onds creeping draggingly by, and made, by the suspense, to 
seem as long as minutes. At last the hatchet was handled 
and delivered to the impatient Bushie, who, the moment he 
received it, sprung forward to try its edge on the bark of a 
large walnut that grew a few paces in front of them. That 
same instant, while yet the pitying, good-humored smile, 
with which he watched the movements of the little captive, 
was still bright on the young brave’s handsome face, the 
ambushed rifle rang out on the quiet scene, and with loud 
yells the two Indians fell over backward behind the log, and 
after a few convulsive struggles, there lay as dead. 

“I yi, you dogs!” And with this his battle-cry shaking 
the lonely wilds, and finding echo in a deep-mouthed howl 
from the brindled dog in the dingle below, the Fighting 
Nigger burst from his ambush, all the lion of his nature 
now roused and rampant within him. Throwing himself 
with a prodigious bound into the arena,, on with huge strides 
he came, his ponderous battle-ax in broad, bright circles 
gleaming high over his head. “ I yi, you dogs I ” 

With a terrible cry, half as a yell of astonishment, half 
as a whoop of defiance. Black Thunder — the red giant be- 


6 


( 81 ) 


82 


B UHL. 

ing, in fact, none other than that redoubtable Wyandot 
brave — leaped to his feet, and wrenching his tomahawk from 
the tree beside him, hurled it, with a horrible hiss, full at 
the shaggy front of this most unexpected, formidable foe. 
But, quick of eye and strong of hand, the Fighting Nigger 
caught the murderous missile on the head of his ax, and sent 
it ringing, like an anvil, high up in the air. On he came 
amain, and with another lion-like bound had planted him- 
self square in front of his antagonist just as a second toma- 
hawk was on the tip of leaping at him, which he sent ring- 
ing after the other, before it had quitted the red giant’s 
grasp. Foiled again, and seeing the ax uplifted, himself 
this time the mark for the impending blow. Black Thunder, 
pushed to desperation, darted sheer under the descending 
arm, thus bringing his shoulder under the handle of the 
weapon, instead of his head under its cleaving edge, and 
causing the force of the blow to be spent harmless on the 
ground behind him. 

Then did these doughty giants close and grapple togeth- 
ei- in the wrestle for life and death. The red giant had 
the advantage in height, if not in weight; the black giant 
in strength of muscle, if not in suppleness of limbs. Again, 
though not so good a wrestler, the red was better breathed, 
while the black, though fighting in a better cause, had not 
yet eaten his breakfast. So, when we come to weigh them 
fairly, it will be found that the advantages which each had 
over the other made the chances of war about nip and tuck 
between the black and the red. 

Pushing and pulling, writhing and tugging and twisting, 
round and round with whirl and fling they went — now over 
the logs, now into the bushes, then driving right through the 
fire, and scattering the smoldering embers broadcast over 
the ground, and everywhere plowing up great furrows with 
their heels in the mellow soil. To the negro, with his pro- 


B URL. 


83 


digious strength of arm, it was an easy matter to toss up the 
Indian from the ground ; but when he would essay to fetch 
the final fling, the nimble savage, let his legs be ever so high in 
the air and wide apart, was always sure to bring the very foot 
down to the very place to stay his fall, though as quickly to 
jerk it up again, to shun the leveling sweep of those enor- 
mous black feet, so persistently making at his ankles. The 
combat had waged for many seconds without any decided 
advantage gained on either side, when, chancing to glance 
over Black Thunder’s shoulder. Burl spied a new danger 
threatening him from quite an unexpected quarter. ^ 

Though shot through the body and mortally wounded, the 
grim savage had so far recovered his strength as to be able 
to drag himself to the nearest rifle, and now, with the weapon 
laid on the log to steady his aim, was covering the combat- 
ants therewith, awaiting the moment when, without danger 
to his comrade, he could let fly, and thus beforehand re- 
venge his own death. Black Thunder perceiving this as 
soon, it became at once the aim of each to keep the other 
exposed to the leveled weapon — the negro to hold the Indian 
between it and himself as a shield, the Indian to hold the 
negro sideways to it long enough to let his wounded com- 
rade steady his aim and fire. Time and again did each 
whirl his antagonist round, point-blank to the threatened 
danger ; yet as often did the other regain the lost advantage. 
Burning to revenge himself before his feeble spark of life 
went out, the dying savage, with his fiery eyes glaring along 
the barrel, continued to shift his rifle from side to side as 
the struggle shifted from place to place. The red giant was 
on the point of covering the black giant between a tree and 
a log, there for the telling instant to hold him fast, when a 
fierce growl was heard in the thicket behind him. The next 
moment, swift to his master’s call, far swifter than would 
seem from the length of time it has taken to describe the 


84 


B URL. 


combat up to this point, the brindled dog leaped like a little 
lion into the arena. No stopping to smell noses, or count 
them, either, but with Bonaparte-like contempt of the cut- 
and-dried in w'arfare, right at the throat of the wounded sav- 
age, with one long bound, he sprung ; and straightway there 
was a dying yell and the bang of a gun, the bullet sent 
whistling away through the tree-tops. The dog had turned 
the scale of battle. 

This danger happily averted. Burl, finding it impossible 
to come near enough to his antagonist “ to lock legs or kick 
ankles,” bethought him of a stratagem by w^hich, without 
much additional risk to himself, he might end this long 
wrestle and gain a decided advantage. He would suffer 
himself to be throwm. Once fiat of his back on the ground 
— the ground, where never by man of martial might had 
he yet been matched — he would find it an easy matter, he 
doubted not, to bring the long, supple savage underneath; 
and secure of this advantage, he should then have nothing 
to do but to wdnd up his morning’s work in the W’ay that 
should please his fancy best. - 

Accordingly, to play off his cunning device, he provoked 
his antagonist to a push of unusual vigor ; when, still within 
each other’s arms, dowm came the giant w^arriors, with an 
appalling squelch, to the ground — the red above, the black 
below^ But in a twinkling there was a Titanic flounce, w^hen 
behold, the black w^as above, the red below. Planting his 
knee with crushing weight on the breast of his prostrate foe, 
the Fighting Nigger felt for his knife with which to deal the 
final blow, but found that in the struggle it had slipped 
from its sheath; and when he would have seized and used 
the Indian’s, that too w^as gone, lost in like manner. Glanc- 
ing round for some murderous stone or club, he spied his ax, 
where it lay on the ground not three feet off to his right, 
and tickling himself with the thought, with the lucky chance 


Burl, 


85 


thus offered of giving his work the finishing touch in tiptop 
style, he eagerly reached out to gather it up; but before 
he could do so and regain his perpendicular, the wary savage, 
snatching at his opportunity, gave in his turn a Titanic 
flounce, which sent the already uplifted weapon with a side- 
long fling into the air, and brought his foe the second time 
to the earth. In a trice, however, the wheel of fortune had 
made another turn, not only bringing the black again to the 
top, but both black and red clean over the brink of the hill, 
whence, as elsewhere noticed, its grassy slope sunk steeply 
but smoothly down to tlie edge of the river, there ending in 
an overleaning bank twenty feet high. 

Perceiving that he had lost his vantage-ground, upon the 
holding of which depended the successful result of his strat- 
agem, and that the steep hill-side to w'hich he had unwittingly 
shifted the struggle, gave the long and nimble savage a de- 
cided advantage over him. Burl determined to shift again. 
Desperate though it might seem, he would, by rolling with 
him thither, bear his antagonist bodily down to the foot of 
the hill, where on level ground once more, as he trusted, he 
should still be able to make his stratagem go. To this in- 
tent putting forth all his huge strength, he grappled yet 
closer with the Indian, locking his legs around him as well 
as his arms. Then wdth a heave on his part, like the roll 
of a buffalo-bull, unwittingly seconded by a big flounce on the 
part of the savage, down the precipitous slope did these re- 
doubtable giants, leaving their wake to be traced by the 
weeds laid flat to the hill, and hugging yet tighter and 
tighter, go rolling and whirling and tumbling, over and over, 
each uppermost, undermost, all in a wink — till over the river 
bank whirlingly pitching, they dropped, with a splash too 
terrific to tell or conceive, into water full twenty feet deep. 
And a smooth, round, ponderous stone, which the force of 
their downward career had pushed from its seat on the hill, 


86 


Burl. 


came rolling and leaping behind them with frightfully grow- 
ing momentum, and tumbled in after them — plump ! Verily, 
the wheel of fortune had never before made so many turns 
in so short a time ! Its axle fairly smoked as it rolled into 
the w^ater. 

Tightly locked together in the mortal hug, as w^ere the 
two warriors when they vanished beneath the shivered mir- 
ror of the stream, the next moment when the plumed crest 
of the red giant and the shaggy top of the black giant heaved 
above the surface, it was found that they had put full thirty 
feet of the river between them. Dashing the water from his 
eyes, and seeing that the chances of war w'ere still about ni|) 
and tuck between them, the Fighting Nigger, with ardor all 
undampened by his ducking, began, with long oar-like sweeps 
of his arms, manfully pulling again for the foe; but too 
prudent to trust himself again within the ireful grasp of the 
bushy-headed brave, and thinking, doubtless, that his vantage- 
ground lay elsewhere than in water twenty feet deep. Black 
Thunder began as manfully pulling for land. The negro 
had proved the stronger wrestler; but the Indian, proving 
the swifter swimmer, was thedirst to land, and to prevent 
his antagonist from landing, began beating him back with 
stones. One of the missiles, better aimed than the rest, 
brought the black hunter a sounding thump on his bear- 
skin w ar-cap, where it still stuck fast and firm to his head, 
never to quit that place but with the scalp it covered, or 
with victory. The blow", however, hurt him no more than 
had his woolen knob been a mossy pine-knot ; though it did 
send him with a quick dive to the bottom of the river, that 
he might come up again at a more respectful distance. 

Now, the Fighting Nigger, as w^e have seen, had calculated 
on finding, not water, but good level ground at the bottom 
of the hill, where, in his superior skill as a wrestler, he 
might regain the advantage he had lost by shifting the 


Burl. 


87 


struggle to the steep hill-side; but he yas too quick and 
expedient, and of too sturdy a spirit to be completely stag- 
gered by any blow of outrageous fortune, even though it 
should be backhanded and ever so unexpected. So find- 
ing that the tide of battle was setting strong and stiff against 
him in the straits to which he had brought himself, he held 
a short council of war with Burlman Reynolds, his right- 
hand man, and promptly determined upon a new course of 
action. In the first place, they must quit them of an ele- 
ment which offered so few facilities for the dodging and 
avoiding of well-aimed missiles. This accomplished, they 
must then bespeed them to the top of the hill again, where 
two loaded rifles yet remained, in whose leaden bullets lay, 
as they trusted, the golden chance of victory. 

Just below the point where the two giants had made their 
involuntary dive, the river-bank was crowned with a small 
cane-brake, whose roots, striking through its overleaning 
edge, formed a ragged, yellow, rope-like fringe, that hung 
down almost to the surface of the water. In these roots, 
Burl saw a means of extricating himself from his present 
predicament, ^nd of escaping from the very enemy this self- 
same brake had aided him in coming at the hour before. 
Accordingly, making a deep dive, that under cover of the 
w’ater he might unanticipated take the first step in his new’ 
course of action, he came up a few moments after directly 
under the brake, with an upward shoot that brought him 
within reach of the rooty fringe. Grasping a bunch, he be- 
gan drawing himself up, hand over hand, at the same time 
widely gathering in the ropy mass with his knees, not only 
to expedite his climbing and reenforce his arms, but to lessen 
the strain on the smaller bunch, which could be grasped but 
by his hands. He had made but half the ascent, when be- 
coming aware that the enemy had silenced his battery of 
stones, he glanced over his shoulder, still climbing, to dis- 


B URL. 


cover the cause, and found to his dismay that his design had 
been frustrated. Black Thunder was seen running with 
prodigious swiftness along the opposite shore, to cross the 
river at the shallows about one hundred and fifty yards be- 
low, where the bank, losing its jutting feature, allowed of an 
easier passage, though less direct than that his black antago- 
nist had chosen. The ascent was effected quickly enough, 
considering how desperate and novel the means. But by 
the time the negro had drawn himself over the bank and 
forced his w^ay through the break, the Indian had come dash- 
ing over at the shallow^s, and now was seen running across the 
narrow strip of bottom land which down there the river, in 
making a bend, had left between itself and the foot of the hill. 

Now followed an uphill race more desperate, if that w^ere 
possible, than the downhill roll. The black giant was 
nearer the goal, but the red giant had longer and*nimbler 
legs, w^hich made it again about nip and tuck betw^een the 
black and the red. Leaving their tracks to be traced by 
great handfuls^^of iron-weeds, caught at and uprooted in the 
scramble, up they struggled, with might and main, and with 
feet that could not quicken their speed, how^ever fear might 
urge or hope incite. Panting and all but spent, the two 
giants gained the top of the hill at the same instant — Burl 
nearest his ax, where it lay on the ground, Black Thunder 
nearest his gun, where it leaned against the log. Five long 
strides more and the Indian had laid his hand on the loaded 
weapon, when having snatched up his ax, the negro hurled 
it with engine-like force at the savage, the ponderous head 
striking him full on the hip and sending him sprawling to 
the ground. Burl was making all speed to recover his 
w’eapon, this time, with its cleaving edge, to deal the death- 
blow without fail, when, before he could do so. Black Thun- 
der, though powerless to walk or stand, whirled himself from 
under his victor’s uplifted hand, and with a few gigantic 


Burl. 


89 


flounces had regained the brink of the steep. Burl sent his 
battle-ax after him with a right good will, though not with 
right good aim, the missile merely inflicting a flesh wound 
in the enemy’s arm. The next moment, with a loud whoop 
of defiance and scorn. Black Thunder had flung him away 
sheer over the brink of the steep. Hastily snatching up one 
of the Indian’s rifles. Burl ran to the brow of the hill, and 
taking deliberate aim at the rolling body far down there, 
fired. Up came ringing a cry — a death-yell, so it would 
seem, so fierce it was, and wild and drear. The moment 
thereafter, now rolling with frightful rapidity, over the river 
bank vanished the Wyandot giant. 


/ 




Chapter XL 

How Little Bushie Figured in the Fight. 


B ut Bushie — where was poor little Bushie all this time? 

The moment the fight had begun the boy, to keep clear 
of the conflicting giants, had run with the speed of a fright- 
ened fawn to the shelter of the neighboring thicket. Here, 
crouched down and peering out through the openings of his 
covert, he had w^atched with fearful interest how manfully 
and against such desperate odds his braye, his faithful Burl 
had battled for his deliverance — his little heart sinking 
within him whenever the combat seemed to be going against 
his champion. And wLen the twD giants, still locked together 
in the death hug, had rolled to the foot of the hill, and he 
had seen his darling Burl’s bare, yellow soles, with a wude- 
Avheeling fling, go vanishing over the river-bank, then had 
the poor little fellow given up all as lost and cried as if his 
heart would break. But when, some minutes after, he had 
spied the bear-skin cap he knew so well heaving above the 
purple iron-weeds far down there, then had he plucked up 
heart again. Now that the fight seemed ended, with victory 
won and deliverance wrought, he was on the point of run- 
ning out, in the joy and thankfulness of the moment, to seize 
his precious old chum by the hand, when a new danger, 
from an altogether unexpected quarter, suddenly presented 
itself and checked him in the act. 

The Fighting Nigger was still standing on the brow of the 
hill, and with his empty gun still sighting the river-bank 
where Black Thunder had vanished, when all in the self- 
( 90 ) 


B URL, 


91 


same instant he heard a cry from his little master, a growl 
from Grumbo, and the venomous hiss of a tomahawk which 
grazingly passed his nose and sunk with a vengeful quiver 
in the trunk of a tree beside him. Wheeling about, he saw 
the young Indian confronting him, and with his scalping- 
knife brandished aloft,, in the act of making a panther-like 
spring upon him. The bullet which had passed through the 
body of the grim savage had pierced the young brave’s left 
arm and spent its remaining force on his ammunition-pouch, 
the inner side of which, being made of thick, tough buffalo- 
hide, had stayed its further progress — though the shock had 
been so severe as to lay him senseless many minutes. Con- 
sciousness and the power of motion returning to him at the 
close of the fight, he had leaped to his feet, and by reason 
of the wound in his left arm disabled from wielding a rifle, 
had snatched up the nearest tomahawk to hurl that at the 
Big Black Brave with a Bushy Head, where he was still 
standing on the brow of the hill, peering through his rifle 
smoke at the river-bank below. * 

Up to this moment Grumbo had kept his powerful jaws 
clenched unrelentingly on the throat of the dead savage; 
but seeing the new danger threatening his master, he had at 
last released his hold, and with a growl and a bound was 
at the enemy’s skirts, which he seized with a violent back- 
ward tug, just as the tomahawk was on the point of being 
hurled, and with a force and an aim which else had sent the 
black giant rolling in his turn to the bottom of the hill. 
Again had the w^ar-dog turned the scale of battle in his 
leader’s favor. 

yi, you dogs!” And with his battle-cry resounding 
again through the lonely wilds, the Fighting Nigger threw 
himself on his new antagonist, whom the invincible Grum- 
bo still held back by the skirts, and wresting the scalping- 
knife from the young brave’s hand, bore him with resistless 


92 Burl, 

force to the ground — Indian, nigger, and dog, all in a hud- 
dle together. 

“ Han’s ulF, Grumbo I ” For the war-dog, now that his blood 
was up, could hardly be restrained from falling tooth and 
nail on the prostrate foe. “ Han’s utfl You ’s chawed up 
one uf de varmints ; jes’ let Burlman Kennuls wind up dis 

one. Han’s uff, I say; or I’ll .” And with this the 

Fighting Nigger made a sham thrust with the knife at his 
comrade’s nose, which forced him to fall back a few paces, 
where he sat doggedly down on his tail, with the injured air 
of a faithful follower who had been defrauded of his dues. 

Big Black Burl looked down on the young Indian brave : 
the young Indian brave, with unflinching bright, black eyes, 
looked up at Big Black Burl. Slowly the victor raised the 
murderous knife aloft, his eyes still bent on the young brave’s 
face, and seeing there something that made his hand less 
swift than was its wont in dealing the death-blow. But the 
knife w as on the point of descending w^hen Bushie came run- 
ning up to the spot, crying out in beseeching accents as he 
came: “Don’t, Burl, do n’t kill that one! Please do n’t!” 

This stayed the uplifted hand, and glancing around at -his 
little master. Burl, with a look of great surprise, exclaimed, 
“ W’y, Bushie, taint nothin’ but a Injun! ” 

“ But that one was good to me. Burl.” 

“A red varmint good to a litte white boy! Git out! ” 

“ Yes, but he was. Burl. That one,” pointing to the dead 
savage, “ was going to split my head open with his hatchet, 
when this one,” pointing to the young brave, “ran up to 
him and pushed him aw^ay from me, and said something to 
him loud and mad which made him look scared and 
mean.” 

“What did de big Injun do to you, Bushie?” inquired 
Burl, now lowering the knife. 

“ He did n’t do nothing to me but look ugly at me, w^hen 


Burl, 93 

this one would be toting me on his back across the creeks 
and up the hills/’ 

“ Which one uf de varmints was it, Bushie, dat gobbled 
you up frum de corn-fiel’ fence, back yander?” 

“ That one,” with a look toward the dead savage. “ This 
one,” with a nod toward the young brave, “ did n’t want him 
to do it, I know he did n’t, because he w^alked on by talking 
to the other and shaking his head. And when the other got 
tired of toting me and wanted to kill me, then it was that 
this one ran up and took me aw^ay from him. Then he led 
me by the hand till I got tired, then toted me on his back 
till I got rested. And that ’s the way he was doing all the 
time. And when I got so tired and sleepy I could n’t walk 
any longer, he took me up in his arms and carried me so far, 
I do n’t know how far, through the dark woods. Then when 
they stopped he gave me something to eat and made me a 
bed of pawpaw limbs, and laid me down to sleep and slept 
by my side. And all the time he would n’t let the others 
come anigh me. And see here. Burl, what he gave me,” 
flourishing his old stone hatchet with a new handle before 
the eyes of the still incredulous Burlman Keynolds. “And 
this, too,” displaying his little coon-skin cap, all splendid 
with the glory of the war-bird. And with these visible 
proofs to back it, Bushie wound up his eloquent little appeal. 

“ Did de young Injun shoot de eagle down yesterday whar 
you got dem Mders?” 

“Yes, and put them in my cap this morning.” 

The black hunter glanced over his shoulder to get a 
glimpse of the young brave’s lower limbs and reassure him- 
self that this was the one who had left the slender foot-prints 
along the trail, side by side with which had always appeared 
those of the boy. Slowly then rose the victor to his feet, 
and like a black Colossus, standing astride his prostrate foe, 
remained for many moments profoundly silent, as if lost in 


94 


B URL, 


thought, and uncertain, under circumstances so unexjiected 
and peculiar, what course he should pursue. 

Never, since that unhappy night two years ago, had he 
lifted his hand against an Indian ; but that remembrance of 
his master’s cruel death, with the wail of the widowed mother 
and her fatherless child, had risen before him, making his 
aim the surer, his blow the heavier. But here was a new 
experience, calling for a new course of action. True was it 
that his old master had been inhumanly treated by this peo- 
ple, but no less true that the life of his young master had 
been preserved, in a signal manner, too, by one of the same 
hated race. If he had owed vengeance for the first, did he 
not now owe gratitude for the last? If, up to this moment, 
he had been swift to meet the claims of vengeance, should 
he not now be as ready to meet the claims of gratitude? 
The lion of him was fast going to sleep within him; the 
Newfoundland of him was fast becoming awake. And look- 
ing down at the young brave between his feet. Burl atten- 
tively scanned him. 

On hearing the voice of entreaty at his side, the young 
Indian had turned his eyes from the face of our big black 
hero, and perceiving by the boy’s looks, tones, and gestures 
that an appeal was making' in his behalf, had fixed them 
earnestly on the face of our little white hero, as if willing 
to look there for mercy, though disdaining to ask it of the 
giant victor under whose grasp he lay. Now that he had 
taken a good long look at him, Burl could not help being 
in some sort struck with the wild and singular beauty of the 
young brave’s whole appearance. Then came back to his 
remembrance the pitying, good-humored smile, with which 
the little captive had been regarded, as they had sat so sociably 
chatting together on the log. Here the lion went fast asleep, 
and the Newfoundland grew broad awake. Scratching his 
back with the knuckle of his thumb, as was his habit in 


Bubl, ' 95 

moments of perplexity, he at length turned to his little mas- 
ter and broke the painful silence thus : 

“An’ is my little man shore de red varmint was good to 
him, an’ toted him on his back?” 

“Yes, indeed, that I am!” replied the boy with glad 
eagerness, now that he saw the light of mercy beginning 
to shine in the victor’s eye. “And if you do n’t let him 
up, I ’ll bellow like a buffalo-bull, so I will ; and won’t 
never love you no more, so I won’t.” Generous little run- 
away. 

“An’ would my little man like fur. us to take de young 
Injun home wid us?” 

“Yes, indeed, that I would!” The little man was de- 
lighted at the thought, but immediately added, “ If he would 
like to go.” Considerate little runaway. 

“An’ s’posin’ ef he would n’t; what den?” 

“ Then let him go home to his mother.” Filial little run- 
away. 

“I yi, my larky!” cried the Fighting Nigger, with an 
emphatic snap of finger and thumb, then added: “But 
Bushie, why did n’t you holler fur me when de dead var- 
mint ober yander gobbled you up?” 

“ Because he slipped up behind me while I was watching 
the squirrels and crows, and before I knew it clapped his 
hand over my mouth.” 

“Ah, Bushrod, Bushrod!” with a sad shake of the head; 
“ did n’t I tole you dar ’s Injuns in de woods wid stickin’ 
knives an’ splittin’ tomahawks fur bad little boys as do n’t 
mind der mudders an’ runs away frum home an’ hain’t 
got nothin’ to say fur ’emselves but beca’se? Heh, did n’t 
I?” 

“Yes, you did!” acknowledging the fact with sheepish 
frankness. 

“Well, ef I let dis young Injun up, will you eber do de 


96 Bubl. 

like ag’in — run away wid de red varmints an’ make yo’r 
pore mudder mizzible?” 

“No, indeed; that I won’t! ^Indeed, and double ’deed,’ 
I won’t 1 ” his eyes now filling with tears. Kemorseful little 
runaway. 

“Lef’ her settin’ dar, I did, at de doo’,” continued Burl, 
now modulating his voice into a sort of dolorous tune : “ pore 
mudder all by herself at de doo’. Could n’t speak a word, 
could n’t walk a step, so mizzible — so onsituwated, fur dar 
she’s a-settin’ yit, I know, a-lookin’ an’ a-lookin’, a-pray- 
in’ an’ a-prayin’, to see her pore ol’ nigger cornin’ home a 
totein’ her pore little boy on his back. How could you, 
Bushie, how could you leave yo’ pore mudder so onsitu- 
wated? I would n’t be ’stonished ” 

“ O do n’t. Burl I Please do n’t ; it hurts me so — it nearly 
kills me!” And with the loved pictures of home — the 
motherly face, with its white, cap ; the mother’s bed, with 
his own little trundle-bed underneath; the table, with its 
white cloth folded and laid upon it; the hickory-bound 
cedar water-bucket, w'ith its crooked handled gourd; the 
red corner-cupboard, with its store of Johnny-cakes and cold 
potatoes for quiet enjoyment between meals ; old Cornwal- 
lis ; the red rooster ; the speckled hen ; the yellow tomcat — 
with all these loved images passing with sudden vividness 
before his remembrance at the sound of the old home voice 
in that lonely place, the delinquent Bushie, now thoroughly 
penitent, lifted up his voice and wept aloud. “ The little 
sinner had come to his milk.” Yes, though a runaw^ay, he 
had in him the good, sound stuflP for making the good, sound 
man. Burl remained silent for some moments, that w'hole- 
some repentance might have its way and start the penitent 
toward the better life ; then, making a big pretense of yield- 
ing the point, and wishing to hide, under a show of obedi- 
ence to his baby superior, wdiat he deemed an unwarrior- 


Burl, 


97 


like weakness of feeling, he wound up the matter thus: 
“Well, Bushie, dar ’s reason in all things. You ’s my little 
marster, I ’s yo’ of nigger. Bein’ yo’ ol’ nigger, I mus’ do 
what my little marster tells me to do, an’ let de young Injun 
up. But mind you now, I ’m doin’ it beca’se he was good 
to my little marster. But who ’d a thought it was in de red 
rubbish to do de like?” And with this closing observation, 
spoken in. an under-tone, and meant only for the private 
ear of Burlman Rennuls, the Fighting Nigger stepped from 
over the prostrate foe, giving, as he did so, a wide, upward 
wave of the hand, with a huge, upward nod of the head, 
which said as plainly as ever had chivalry said it: “Van- 
quished warrior, rise and live ! ” 

The young Indian rose to his feet, and going directly up 
to his little preserver, shook him with gentle earnestness by 
the hand, evincing in the simple act and the look attending 
it the utmost thankfulness of heart, mixed with respect and 
admiration. Then he went to the log, against which still 
leaned a loaded rifle, and was picking it up when Burl, sus- 
pecting treachery, sprung forward to frustrate the hostile 
design. But too quick for him, the young savage gath- 
ering up the weapon and wielding it in his right-hand, 
discharged it into the air. Then, with grave compos- 
ure, as though he had not noticed the movement of alarm, 
he surrendered the empty rifle to his victor, in token of 
his entire submission; though, as he did so, he pointed to 
Bushie, his captive but the hour before, thus signifying 
that he wished to be regarded as the prisoner of his little 
preserver. 

Without seeming to know what he was doing. Burl took 
the rifle and, resting it on the ground, stood motionless for 
many moments, staring fixedly at the young Indian with a 
look of unqualified astonishment and unmitigated bewilder- 
ment, as if his senses had told him something that had given 
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the lie to his leading and abiding conviction — that eternal 
truth embodied in the words, “ Dar ’s reason in all things.” 
Burlman Rennuls was in a fog; the Fighting Nigger 
was in a fog; in a fog was the entire man of Big Black 
Burl. 


Chapter Xll. 

How Big Black Burl and Grumbo Figured After 
THE Fight. 

N OW, it had always been the Fighting Nigger’s belief — 
creed, so to speak — that Indians, though possessed (by 
some strange chance or mischance) of the power of speech, 
with a few other faculties in common with colored people 
and the rest of mankind, had, nevertheless, neither souls nor 
human feelings. According to his view, they were a sort of 
featherless biped-beast — an almost hairless orang-outang, 
with short arms and long legs, having an unquenchable 
thirst for human blood ; whom, therefore, it was the duty of 
every Christian body — black, yellow, and white — to shoot 
down and scalp wherever they were to be found on top of 
the earth. But the creed he had so long adhered to, fought 
for, and gloried in had now on a sudden been knocked, 
picked, and crumpled up into a cocked hat by this young 
barbarian, whose conduct in the nobleness of soul it had dis- 
played w'as utterly unlike any thing he had ever witnessed, 
heard of, or dreamed of, in this race. Big Black Burl took 
off his bear-skin war-cap, for the first time since quitting 
home, and with the back of his s^weaty hand wiped his 
sweaty brow, put the cap on again, and from under its 
shaggy shadow took another look at the fog. 

“ U-gooh ! ” exclaimed the Fighting Nigger, at last so far 
recovering the power of speech as to be able to force an un- 
spellable interjection throiUgh the nose; at the same time 
scratching his back with tbn knuckle of his thumb. “ Neb- 

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ber seed de like in all my bo’n days. Ton my honor, ef 
dis young varmint do n’t carry on like a white man : couldn’t 
a done dat thing mo’e ginteel’y myse’f. Burlman Ken- 
nuls” — jumping at solutions — “dar’s black or wdiite blood 
in dis young Injun; shore’s you bo’n, dar’s black or wdiite 
blood in dis young Injun. Ef dar’ wusn’t he wouldn’t be 
gwdne on dis way like a wEite man — min’, I tell you!” 
And Burlman Rennuls walked out of the fog; the Fight- 
ing Nigger walked out of the fog — out of the fog, into the 
clear, unmisted light of reason, w^alked, by a short cut, the 
entire man of Big Black Burl. 

Thus satisfied in his own mind that, let the matter be 
view’^ed on either side — the black side or the white side — 
there existed a kindred tie betw^een himself and the young 
Indian, not to mention the debt of gratitude each owed the 
other, the Fighting Nigger felt that .for once in his, life he 
might, wdthout soiling the skirts of his honor, or lowering 
the plumes of his dignity, play the familiar and brotherly 
with the red varmint. So, going up to the young brave, 
wFo the wFile had stood with his bright eyes fixed on some 
invisible quarter of the morning, our colored hero, with a 
bland condescension of manner that would have done a 
wFite man infinite good to see, shook his captive heartily by 
the hand. Then, with aw^kward carefulness, he took the 
wounded arm of the Indian betw^een his fingers, to ascertain 
the extent of the injury done by his bullet. No bones were 
broken, but the flesh-wound inflicted by the ball — flattened 
and jagged as it w^as by its passage through the grim sav- 
age — w^as found to be ugly and painful enough. “Betsy 
Grumbo bites pow’ful hard when she gits a chance,” re- 
marked Burl, after inspecting the wound wdth critical nar- 
rowuiess for a few moments. “Well, jes’ w^ait a bit, an’ I’ll 
see what I kin do for you.” So saying, he went and divested 
the dead savage of his ruffled shirt, which he tore up into 


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narrow strips, wherewith to bandage the crippled arm. For 
Burlman Kennuls, you must know, was quite a dab at 
surgery; his skill in that line having been called into fre- 
quent requisition by the mishaps of old Cornwallis, who 
seldom got through the unlucky quarters of the moon with- 
out snagging., his legs; and also by the wounds which the 
heroic Grumbo had received in hunting and in war. 

While thus humanely engaged, his fluent tongue went on, 
and on, and on. Sometimes he would address his remarks 
to Burlman Eennuls, enlarging upon the valorous deeds 
and distinguished abilities of the Fighting Nigger — such 
signal proofs whereof he, Burlman Kennuls, had that day 
enjoyed the rare pleasure of witnessing. Then he would 
throw out some side hints, meant only for the private ear of 
the dead savage, relative to the incompatibleness of blue 
coats and rufiled shirts with the pure Indian costume — ^that 
unlucky individual being admonished that thereafter, if he 
did not wish to be thought a dirty, sneaking, low-lived thief, 
he would do well “ to stick to his raggedy rawhide tags and 
feathers.” Oftener, though, the black surgeon would be 
making some comment touching the matter more immedi- 
ately in hand — seeming to take more interest therein than 
the patient himself, who, Indian-like, could hardly have 
manifested less concern in what was doing for his relief than 
had the wounded limb been hanging to some other man’s 
shoulder, and he but an accidental spectator of what was 
passing. 

When the wound was bandaged, or rather bundled up, 
the young Indian, improvising a sling of his ammunition- 
pouch, slipped his arm in between the straps — this being the 
first notice he had apparently taken of his own mishap. 

“Now, as you’s fixed up an’ feelin’ easy an’ good, me an’ 
Grumbo will take a bite o’ somethin’ to eat : hain’t had our 
breakfas’ yit, an’ hungry as dogs. So, you an’ Bushie jes’ 


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set heer on de log, while we look about us fur some grub. 
Den we’ll all go a-p’radin’ home togedder, arm-in-arm.” 

The smoldering camp-fire was rekindled, and a dozen 
long slices being cut from the fat young buck upon whose 
flesh the savages had broken their fast, it was not long be- 
fore the appetizing smell of savory meat broiling on glowing 
embers began to fill the air, provoking the hungry mouth 
to water. But Big Black Burl, though colored and dressed 
in buckskin, was quite too much of the natural gentleman 
to sufiTer a morsel of food to enter his own mouth — water as 
it might — until he had discharged his duty as host toward 
their captive, who, being such, must needs in some sort be 
their guest. So, he took a choice slice of venison on the 
point of his hunting-knife, and going up to the young Indi- 
an where he sat on the log, offered it to him with magnifi- 
cent hospitality, at the same time showing the whites of his 
eyes in his blandest manner. The captive guest, however, 
with a courteous wave of the hand, declined the proffered 
food, inasmuch as he had broken his fast already. The 
steak was then offered to Bushie, who, though he had break- 
fasted too, did not with a courteous w’^ave of the hand de- 
cline it, but took and ate it, every bit — not that he was 
hungry at all, but so delightful did he find it to be eating 
again with his precious old black chum. Unwilling, in the 
joy and thankfulness of his heart, that his red friend should 
remain a mere spectator to their pleasant repast, the gener- 
ous little fellow, getting the loan of Burl’s knife, took an- 
other choice steak, and with his own hand offered it to their 
captive guest. This time — ^glad to do any thing in the world 
to please his little preserver — the young Indian accepted the 
proffered hospitality, and taking the venison, ate it with 
much appearance of relish. 

Now, you must know that after a battle fought and vic- 
tory won, it was Grumbo’s wont to indulge himself in a lifi 


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tie brief repose, which he would take stretched out on the 
ground, with his shaggy head laid, lion-like, on his extend- 
ed paws — betraying, in both attitude and look, a sober self- 
satisfaction so entire as made it seem that for him the world 
had nothing more to offer. But this morning, notwithstand- 
ing the successful, even brilliant, winding up of their great 
adventure, our war-dog, instead of unbending as usual, held 
grimly aloof from the rest of the party, still seated on his 
tail, to which he had retired, snubbed, in the very flush of 
victory, by his ungrateful leader. Evidently our canine 
hero had got his nose knocked out of joint. Nevertheless, 
he failed not to maintain a wary though distant watch over 
the movements of the young Indian, whom, being the sort 
of game they had always up to this moment hunted to the 
bloody end, he could not but regard with a jealous and dis- 
trustful eye. From time to time, by way of giving him a 
piece of his mind, he would cast side-long at his master a 
look of severe reproach, unqualified disapprobation. Plain 
w^as it that to his dogship’s way of thinking it was a very 
bungling fashion of doing business, thus to suffer this red 
barbarian to pass from under their hands, untouched by 
tomahawk or tooth — betraying, as it did, a weakness of feel- 
ing altogether unbeseeming warriors of the first blood like 
themselves. Therefore did his excellency doggedly keep 
his tail, nor would he unbend, so far as even to sniff at — 
though hungry as a nigger — the raw meat which, without 
measure, his master had laid before him. 

Observing the offended and distant demeanor of his com- 
rade-in-arms, and knowing that he sometimes, showed a civ- 
ilized preference for cooked meat over raw. Burl roasted one 
whole side of the buck and threw it before him, hot and 
smoking from the embers, hoping that this might win him 
over and tempt him into a more sociable and gracious hu- 
mor. But his dogship had been too deeply offended to be sc 


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easily appeased; and let tlie savory fumes of the smoking 
dainty curl round and round his watering chops as tempt- 
ingly as they might, he would not deign to stoop and taste. 
Seeing that he still stood upon the reserve — sat on his tail — 
Burl at length began to have some misgivings as to whether 
he had dealt altogether fairly by his right-hand man, to snub 
him as he had in the very moment of victory, which but for 
the injured one had never been achieved. So, he went and 
stripped the head of the slain savage of its scalp, which, with 
its long braided lock and tuft of feathers, he tied securely 
to the back of the war-dog’s neck just behind the ears. This 
he did with the assurance that although they had won the 
trophy conjointly, yet in consideration of the gallant services 
w^hich he — Grumbo — had that dity rendered their almost 
hopeless cause, would he, the Fighting Nigger, resign all 
claim thereunto in his comrade’s favor, and allow him to en- 
joy the undivided honor thereof, as he so richly deserved. 
Then the “captain explained to his lieutenant” — foT with 
these titles the white hunters often coupled them — how mat- 
ters stood between them and their Indian prisoner, but for 
wFose humanity they had never found their little master 
alive. Having enlarged upon this point, the captain wound 
up his apology — for such the explanation was, in fact — with 
the promise, backed by the Fighting Nigger’s inviolable 
word of honor, that as soon as they had squared the debt of 
gratitude under which this young barbarian had laid them, 
then would they go on doing up business in the good old or- 
thodox fashion as before. More .than this, that hereafter, 
whenever any of the red “ varmints ” should fall into their 
hands, he — Grumbo — should be allowed to throttle and tum- 
ble, tousle and tug them to his heart’s content. All this, so 
gratifying to a warrior’s pride, seemed to have the desired 
effect in appeasing the wounded dignity of his dogship, as 
was apparent, first by his bending his nose to smell, then 


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stooping his head to taste, and at last by his coming bodily 
to the ground and falling tooth and nail upon the juicy roast 
before him, which now he could venture to do without great 
risk of burning his mouth. 

By this time the dewy half of the morning was well-nigh 
spent, and if they would reach the shelter of the distant sta- 
tion by the going down of that day’s sun, it was high time 
they were up and away on their homeward tramp. But Big 
Black Burl could not think of quitting the spot without tak- 
ing with him every thing — weapons, accouterments of war, 
scalps, prisoners of war, not to mention the rescued captive — 
that might bespeak a battle fought and victory w"on,’and that 
could set off and give edge to the triumphal entry he antici- 
pated making that evening into Fort Reynolds. The whole 
settlement — nay, the whole Paradise from end to end — should 
ring with the noise of his grand achievement. To be sure, with 
respect to the prisoner of war, his little master, with that fellow- 
feeling which makes us wondrous kind, had said but the hour 
before, “ Let him go home to his mother.” But our hero, col- 
ored though he was, had far too genuine a love of glory 
ever to allow an opportunity for the indulgence of his pas- 
sion to escape him, no matter at what expense it might be to 
others, in life, liberty, and dearest affections. And here 
again, and for the third time, may we liken the Fighting Nig- 
ger to Alexander the Great, to Napoleon the Great, or, more 
fitly still, to his great-grandfather, Mumbo Jumbo the Great, 
the far-famed giant-king of Congo. By the way, I am just 
here reminded that I have forgotten to state, and much to 
my surprise, that Big Black Burl was believed throughout 
the Paradise to be the great-grandson of the great Mumbo 
Jumbo, and as such was in verity the case, the remarkable 
character of our hero admits of plausible explanation. Who 
Mumbo Jumbo really was I must confess that, with due re- 
spect to authentic history, I am not exactly prepared to af- 


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firm ; though that he must have been a man of immense con- 
sequence in his day was fairly to be inferred from the fact 
of his haying made in Africa a noise so loud as to have been 
heard, a full half century afterward, beyond the Alleghany 
Mountains — that, too, by a people so far behind the times as 
to know nothing whatever of even so redoubtable a man as 
Baron Munchausen. » 

But to return to our war-path, and be just. The Fighting 
Nigger had no thought of using the life, liberty, and dearest 
affections thrown by the chances of war upon his mercy, 
excepting so far as to take his prisoner home with him as a 
trophy of victory; which done, then should he be allowed 
to return to his own people, bird-free, without the loss of a 
feather. As he had not killed the Indian, how could he 
without gross violation of the rules of civilized warfare take 
his scalp? And without scalps to show for proof, let him 
but dare blow his own trumpet, and he should be blazed 
throughout the land as a windy, lying braggart. Therefore, 
as neither party in question could quit that place without 
the scalp — the one having a natural right, the other a bellig- 
erent right to the same — expedient was it that the party who 
enjoyed but the natural right should be taken bodily to the 
settlements, there to appear as a living witness to that prow- 
ess in arms which had brought him under the conquering 
hand of the Big Black Brave with a Bushy Head. Now 
you can understand what the Fighting Nigger meant, when, 
in answer to his little master’s “Let him go home to his 
mother,” he had, with a snap of his finger and thumb, 
exclaimed in Anglo-Congo lingo, “ I yi, my larky ! ” 

Accordingly, Burl gathered up all the weapons and ac- 
couterments of the vanquished foe, where they lay scattered 
about the top of the battle-hill, sticking the hatchets and 
knives about his middle and hanging the powder-horns and 
ammunition-pouches from his shoulders. The three Indians’ 


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rifles he tied together and gave to his prisoner to carry, a 
burden he would hardly have laid undivided on the wounded 
youth had he not foreseen that his little master, when weary 
of w^alking, must needs be getting upon his back from time 
to time to ride till rested. Then Betsy Grumbo being put 
again in biting order and shouldered, the little party started 
forward on their homeward tramp — the young Indian, at a 
sign from his captor, going on a little in advance, Grumbo 
coming on a little in the rear, while Burl and Bushie walked 
hand in hand between. The w^ar-dog had regained his 
wonted grim self-satisfaction, as could be seen by the iron 
twist of his tail over the right leg, and by the peculiar hang 
of the lower lip at the corners as if he carried a big quid of 
tobacco in each side of his mouth. Nevertheless, he still 
maintained a wary w^atch over their red captive, whom he 
continued to regard with undiminished jealousy and distrust, 
and to whose living presence in their midst he seemed de- 
termined never to be reconciled. 

Gaining the foot of the hill by an easier route, though 
less direct than that by which the two giants had reached it, 
they found there the traces of blood, which, reddening the 
grass at short intervals, marked the turns made by Black 
Thunder’s body after receiving the bullet sent after him 
from his own rifle. 

“Ugh!” exclaimed the Indian; and that was all. 

“ U-gooh I ” exclaimed the negro, and a great deal more to 
the like purpose. 

Burl would have given his war-cap, the trophy of victory 
over the bears, and gone home bare-headed — nay, bare-headed 
the livelong summer — could he by that sacrifice have secured 
the scalp of the Wyandot giant, so greatly did he covet this 
additional trophy of his victory over a warrior so renowned. 
But the body was nowhere to be found, all traces of it van- 
ishing at the brink of the river-bank. The party crossed 


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the stream at the shallows, then ascended the opposite shore 
to where our two adventurers had made the passage an hour 
before the battle. Here Burl called a halt of a few mo- 
ments, that he might resume his martial rigging left there, and 
give himself an appearance more becoming a great warrior 
returning home to receive the honors which his valor had 
won for him on the field of scalps and glory. And such 
was the morning of that ever-to-be-remembered first of June, 
1789. 


ffliapter Xlll. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in His Triumph. 

“ TI7HAT a pity! what a pity I wliat a pity I ” the little log 
jtJL mill still went on saying to the little log fort, and 
making the little log fort yet sadder and lonesomer than had 
it held its peace, and not tried so hard to play the comforter. 

From noon to noon, with a dreary night between, hour 
after hour passed heavily, wearily by. And there, at the 
door of her desolate home, still sat the widowed mother, 
waiting and watching, her eyes turned ever toward the per- 
ilous north — waiting and watching as only those can wait 
and watch whose hearts are telling them that any hour may 
bring them the tidings that all they hold most dear on earth 
is lost to them forever. In homely kindness and sympathy 
her neighbors strove to comfort her, and rouse her from the 
lethargy of grief into which she seemed to be sinking. They 
forgot how little mere words of condolence, however tender 
and pitying, can avail, until the stricken heart, having taken 
in its full measure of sorrow, can begin to accommodate it- 
self to the new presence, and be brought once more to feel 
that although much is lost still more remains for gratitude 
and peace. 

Toward noon the next day the hunters, w^ho had gone out 
in pursuit of the savages, weary and sad returned to the 
fort. After parting with Burl, they had not ascended more 
than a mile into the hills, w'hen the larger trail made its re- 
appearance on the banks of the more easterly of the two 
forks, whose united waters formed the little river wFich 

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turned the mill of the settlement. Rejoining their parties, 
they had renewed the chase with spirit, the trail now lead- 
ing in a direct line toward the Ohio, whose hanks they had 
reached at sunset, and just in time to send a volley of bullets 
after the fugitives, who, however, before the pursuers were up 
with them, had regained their canoes and put a broad stretch 
of the river between themselves and the perilous shore. The 
hunters had had a clear view of the Indians as they landed on 
the opposite side, and having made sure that there were no 
white prisoners among them, they had given over the chase, 
convinced that the unfortunate Bushie must have been 
borne away in some other directioji by the three Indians 
whose traces had been discovered at the corn-field fence, and 
lost sight of in the larger trail. One chance more, however, 
remained to them ; Big Black Burl was still abroad, and so 
long as that faithful a^d courageous fellow kept the war- 
path, good reason had they for hoping that all yet might 
end well. 

The sun was nigh his settings a few more far-reaching 
winks of his great bright ^ye and he would be sinking be- 
hind the evening hills of green Kentucky, and rising above 
the morning hills of China, Already had the horses and 
cattle — as was the custom of the times when Indians were 
known to be across the border— been brought for the night 
within the shelter of the fort. Already the ponderous 
wooden gate w^as swinging creakingly to on its ponderous 
wooden hinges j but just as its ponderous wooden bolt was 
sliding into the ponderous wooden staple, out from the neigh- 
boring forest yingingj. with echo on echo, it came^the old 
familiar cry, the trumpet-call to battle abroad, the note of 
brotherly cheer at homei ‘‘I yi, yon dogs! -’^rr-too jocund 
and triumphant for any ope whose ears had caught the glad 
sound to doubt that gla4 tidings were coming, Straightway 
reopening the gate and looking forth, the hunters spied. 


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moving toward them through the bushes in the edge of the 
woods, first the plumed crest of an Indian warrior, then a 
more spreading display of bright feathers, so high aloft that 
one could fancy they topped the head of a giant full eight 
feet high, w'ho came treading close behind. For a few mo- 
ments this was all that could be seen ; till now, full over the 
ragged skirts of the forest, there in open view, they came — 
the young Indian in front, with his load of rifles laid across 
his arm ; then Big Black Burl, bristling all over with hatchets 
and knives ; and lastly, with a consequential twist of the tail 
and with the plumed scalp-lock of an Indian waving over 
his neck, the invincible Grumbo bringing up the rear. 

And there, triumphantly borne aloft on the shoulders of 
our big black hero, his sturdy young legs astride his deliv- 
erer’s neck and dangling down in front, bare and brier- 
scratched, his arms clasped tightly around the bear-skin 
war-cap, his own little coon-skin cap all brave with the 
pride of the war-bird — there sat our little white hero, that 
self-same runaway Bushie, whose frow^ard legs had so well- 
nigh carried him to death’s door, and on whose account a 
whole settlement had been unsettled from dinner-time yes- 
terday till supper-time to-day. But what a shout that was 
which at this sight went pealing up from the fort to the sky, 
went pealing down from the fort to the mill, which, just at 
this moment received the reserved water upon its wheel, 
and all on a sudden, clearing its wooden throat with a 
squeak, ceased droning, “ What a pity ! what a pity ! ” and 
fell to singing, in double-quick time, “ What a naughty ! 
what a naughty! what a naughty!” Some of the hunters 
ran in to bear the poor mother the joyful tidings, some ran 
out to meet and welcome the returning conqueror, while 
others opened the gate to its utmost width to let the con- 
queror in. On they came, vanquished and victor; Bushie 
grinning at them from over the head of the Fighting Nig- 


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ger; the Fighting Nigger grinning at them from over the 
head of the Indian ; and the Indian, with dignified compos- 
ure, looking the whole white settlement full in the face. 
Without a halt, right through the gate-way they drove, 
“ like a wagon and team with a dog behind,” to use the 
conqueror’s own expressive w’ords; nor could words have 
expressed more, had they told of the rumble of chariot- 
wheels. Hardly were they over the sill when, to bring the 
triumph to a climax, here, followed by all the women, and 
children, and dogs, screaming, shouting, barking, laughing, 
crying — those gladder who cried than those who laughed, 
those gladder who barked than those who shouted — came 
running Miss Jemimy, to meet them. 

Turning his back square on his mistress, the conqueror 
let the rescued treasure tumble bodily from his shoulders 
into the eager arms, upon the yearning bosom. With inco- 
herent expressions of endearment to her darling boy, of 
thanks to their brave and faithful servant, and of praise to 
the merciful Father of all, the widowed mother clasped the 
lost and found to her heart, being in turn all but choked 
and smothered by the hugs and kisses of the delighted 
Bushie. Then, hand in hand, they hastened to their cabin 
and shut the door behind them with a timbersome bang, 
which said as plainly as a puncheon-door, with oaken hinges 
and hickory latch, could say any thing, ‘‘ Let us have the 
first hour of recovered happiness to ourselves.” It was a 
sight for which full many a stern, hard eye that saw it grew 
for the moment the brighter, if not the clearer ; and Burl, 
though he made a manful effort to keep it back, was forced 
to yield the point and let it come — the one big sob of tender 
and grateful feeling, which, sending a quiver through his 
huge frame, made his martial rigging shake and jingle like 
the harness of a whinnying war-horse. 

The hunters now gathered round the hero of the day and 


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called upon him for an account of his adventures since part- 
ing with them at the forks of the river the day before. He 
told his story modestly and briefly enough, being well aware 
that there were those among his listeners far more learned 
in wood-craft than himself, and more skilled in the arts and 
stratagems of Indian warfare. Too magnanimous was he, 
though, to pass so briefly over the part his prisoner had 
played in the matter, dwelling at some length on the gen- 
tleness and humanity with which the young Indian had 
treated his little master. When he had ended, the white 
hunters, one and all, came up to him and shook him hearti- 
ly by the hand, pronouncing him an Indian-fighter of the 
true grit — a compliment, in the Fighting Nigger’s estima- 
tion, the highest that could be paid to mortal man, black, 
yellow, or white. Then, going up to the young Indian, who, 
leaning on his rifles, had stood the while with his bright 
eyes fixed serenely on some invisible quarter of the evening, 
they, one and all, shook him, likewise, as heartily by the 
hand — a dumb but eloquent expression of their grateful 
sense of the humanity he had shown their little friend in 
his hour of helpless peril and piteous need. The young 
brave received the demonstration with dignified composure; 
not, though, as if he had expected it, for, at the first greet- 
ing, he did lose his self-possessed reserve so far as to betray 
a little sign of great surprise. 

While our big black hero was narrating their adventures 
to the hunters without, our little white hero was giving his 
version of the same to his mother within— a medley of facts 
and fancies, where it was about nip and tuck between his 
old black chum and his young red friend as to which might 
claim the greater share of the juvenile gratitude and ad- 
miration. Being gently reproved by his mother for his 
naughty behavior, which had been the cause of so much 
trouble and distress to them all, the young transgressor, for 
8 


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Burl. 


the first time in his life without tlie help of a switch to 
make him feel and know the error of his ways, besought 
his mother’s forgiveness; only just let him off for that one 
time and he never, never would run aw^ay with the Indians 
again as long as he lived — winding up the comforting assur- 
ance with a cub-like hug, to make the surer of clearing his 
legs of the switching he felt he richly deserved. 

Having heard the rigmarole from beginning to end, and 
from end to beginning, and then from middle to middle 
again, and gathered therefrom that he to whom she owed 
her dear boy’s life was wounded, Mrs. Reynolds sent Bushie 
with word to Burl to bring the young Indian to her door. 
When they were come, she made a few inquiries of Burl 
himself with regard to their adventures, and when an- 
sAvered, she bid him go and bring a keeler of water, that 
they might wash and dress the prisoner’s wound. When 
the w’ater w^as brought, she took off the bloody bandages 
from the crippled arm and gently laved and Avashed the 
A\mund, wRich by this time was much inflamed and SAVollen; 
then anointing it Avith some healing-saRe, she bound it up 
again Avith clean bandages. This humane office duly done, 
the good Avoman bid Burl take the young Indian to his OAvn 
cabin, there to be lodged and entertained Avith all hospital 
ity till, healed of his wound, he should be able to shift foi 
himself, when he should be alloAved to return in peace to hi,‘ 
own people. 

And as his mistress bid him did Burl right willingly do, 
playing the host in magnificent style, and setting before his 
captive guest the best his house afforded, not suffering a 
morsel to pass his OAAm or Grumbo’s lips till the claims of 
hospitality were fully met. This last, hoAvever, Avas a piec< 
of etiquette not at all to the AA^ar-dog’s taste, since tAvo huu 
gry Christian mouths Avere thereby made to Avater, and thai 
too only out of respect to a red heathen, AA’ho, as such, in 


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his (logship’s opinion, deserved no better treatment at their 
hands than a common cur. Therefore did Grumbo harden 
his heart all the more against the red barbarian, holding 
him in worse odor than before. 

Victor and vanquished were still at their friendly repast 
when all the ebony of the settlement — to the number of 
about thirty, men, women, and children — came flocking to 
the Fighting Nigger’s cabin, and stood gathered in a close, 
black knot at the door, waiting with eager ears to hear 
the great event of the day from the hero’s own lips ; nor 
with eyes less eager to get a peep at the prisoner of war, a 
‘Give Injun” — a sight that some of them had never seen 
before. Their wonderment was much excited to see how a 
red varmint could drink its water from a tin instead of need- 
ing to suck it up from a trough, like a horse ; how it could 
eat its meat with a knife and fork, bite by bite, instead of 
gulping it up whole, like a dog ; and how it could do many 
other things in the civilized, human way, which they had 
supposed peculiar to “ black people and white folks.” Sup- 
per ended, mine host filled and lighted his own pipe, and 
blandly showing the whites of his eyes, oflered it to his cap- 
tive guest. The captive guest, with a graceful acknowledg- 
ment, accepted the pipe, and with grave decorum began 
smoking, sending out the puffs at slow and regular intervals, 
and looking straight before him ; sometimes at the curling 
smoke, then, through the smoke, at the opposite wall ; then, 
through the wall — for so it seemed — at some object on the 
other side of the Ohio River, miles away in the gathering 
shades of evening. Once he turned his bright eyes full on 
the clump of shining black faces at the door, and scanned 
them attentively, though seemingly with as little conscious- 
ness of their living, personal presence as were they but so 
many stuffed specimens of their kind piled up there for ex- 
hibition. But glancing downward and spying three or four 


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little woolies peeping fearfully at him from between the 
legs of the larger ones— the stride of the legs perceptibly 
widened to give the little fellows a chance — then did the 
young brave discharge a puff one second before its time, 
sending it with a force that carried it in a straight line to 
the bowl of the pipe before it began to rise. But for this, 
you would hardly have thought that the Indian had seen 
any thing that seemed to him alive or human or funny. 

“ Cap’n Kennuls, stop yo’ monkey-shines ober de red var- 
mint in dar, an’ come out an’ git up an’ make us a speech,” 
at length said one of the ebony brotherhood at the door, 
promoting our hero on the spot, and adding a still higher 
title to the illustrious list already coupled with his name. 





Chapter XIV. 

How Big Black Burl Figured in Oratory. 

A ccordingly, the Fighting Nigger came forth, still 
bristling all over with the trophies of victory and spoils 
of war — the three Indian rifles now added to the rest. 
Mounting a low, wide poplar stump directly in front of his 
cabin, he proceeded to give his colored brethren a circum- 
stantial account of all that had happened to him in the 
course of his late adventure. As if the wonderful reality 
were not enough to satisfy any reasonable lover of the mar- 
velous, he must needs lug in a deal that had not happened 
to him in the time, and never could have happened at any 
time to anybody, excepting giant-killers, dragon-fighters, 
and the like, -whose exploits, though never witnessed by 
mortal eye, have made such a noise in the world of fancy, 
fog, and moonshine. Though he could confine himself to 
facts with modest brevity when speaking of his achievements " 
to white people — as we have already noticed — the Fighting 
Nigger, it must be owned, was something of a long-winded 
boaster, wdth a proneness to slide off into the fabulous, when 
blowing his own trumpet for the entertainment of his col- 
ored admirers, who bolted whatever monstrosity he might 
choose to toss into their greedy chops. But let us be just. 

It was with no direct intention of hoaxing or deceiving his 
hearers that he played the fabler; it was simply a way he 
had of holding up a magnifying-glass, so to speak, before 
their eyes, that he might help them to bring their imagina- 
tions up to his own idea of the w^onderful reality. 

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As the romancing went on, Gruinbo, who had taken the 
stump likewise, sat, with grim dignity, upon his haunches 
at his master’s side, to lend his countenance to the matter 
under consideration; presiding, as it wnuld seem, as chair- 
man of the assembly. That such was the view he took of 
his present position was evident from his manner ; for, ever 
and anon, when he saw their audience staggering under some 
marvel tossed too suddenly into their gaping mouths, our 
chairman would fetch the stump a ratifying rap of the tail, 
which said more plainly than his lips could have said it : 
“A fact, gentlemen — fact. On the word of an honest dog, 
that, also, strange though it may seem, is as true as all the 
rest my comrade has told you. I myself was present and 
had a hand in the matter; therefore ought I to know.” 

Now and then the speaker would be interrupted by his 
excitable listeners with some exclamation of wonder, horror, 
incredulity, derision, pity, or the like — which, being in An- 
glo-Congo or ebony lingo, must needs be unintelligible to 
many of my readers. Therefore, for the enlightenment and 
edification of the unlearned, have I thought it best to give 
a list of the interjections and phrases in question, with the 
definition or free translation of each, ignoring etymologies 
as smacking, just here, of pedantry: 

GLOSSAKY. 

Git Out — A cry of good-humored derision. 

Shucks — Pshaw; nonsense; fiddle-sticks. 

0 Hush — “You are too funny;” “You are too smart; ’ 
“You are a fool.” 

1 Yi — Hurrah; bravo; bully; well done: coupled with 
“ my larky,” equivalent to “ Catch me at that if you can.” 

Hoo-weep (followed by a whistle) — Expressive of un- 
speakable astonishment. 

Oho — A cry of exultation, translated into “Goody, 
goody!” 


Burl. 


119 


Laus-a-marcy — Shocking; horrible; dreadful: “My 
wool stands on end with horror.” 

Goodness Gracious— Used in a similar sense to the 
above, though in a milder degree. 

Tsht, Tsht, Tsht — An unspellable sound, produced by 
applying the tip of the tongue to the palate with a quick 
suck at the air, repeated three times; translatable into, 
“What a pity, what a pity!” “ O dear, O dear!” 

Lettin’ On — Making a pretense of; feigning; hoaxing. 

H-yah, H-yah, H-yaii — Ha, ha, ha. 

U-GOOH — An unspellable interjection pronounced, or rath- 
er produced, by closing the lips and sending the sound through 
the nose, either forcibly and suddenly with a quick taper, 
or the reverse with a quick, short swell ; or beginning gen- 
tly, no bigger than a knitting-needle, and slowly swelling to 
a certain degree, then suddenly flaring, like the mouth of a 
dinner-horn. In short, varying according to the feeling or 
thought to be expressed. Perhaps in the ebony lingo there 
is no word so frequently used, and in senses so various, as 
U-gooh. Rendered into English, some of the sentiments ex- 
pressed thereby are the following: “Admirable!” “Won- 
derful!” “O how nice!” “O how good!” “You astonish 
me ! ” “I admire you ! ” “I highly commend you ! ” “I ap- 
plaud you!” “I am listening — pray proceed ! ” “AVhat you 
tell me is very strange, nevertheless I believe you!” “I 
have no words to express what I feel, therefore can only 
say, ‘U-gooh!’” 

What our black Munchausen told the ebony wonder- 
mongers of his great adventure before and after the fight 
was such a jumble of marvels and horrors as were hardly 
fitting to appear in a sober book like ours, pledged to con- 
fine itself to possibilities, if not to facts. Where the narra- 
tive should have been truest, if truly told, there the narra- 
tor was wildest, drawing freely upon his imagination to fill 


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up the wide gaps between the few conspicuous incidents 
' marking its setting out and winding up. Gap number one 
was made interesting with bears; gap number two, lively 
with panthers; gap number three, thrilling with wolves; 
and where the war-path led into the shades of night, there 
the woods were alive with ghosts. We shall, therefore, make 
our dip into the medley just at that point where the narra- 
tor, having brought his listeners all agape to the hazardous 
edge of ambush and battle subsides into the possible ; the 
story now rising of itself into the wonderful, and having no 
great need of exaggeration or embellishment to make it 
spicy. 

“ Betsy Grumbo,” ses I to my gun, “ you mus’ put lead 
through two ob de varmints on de log, ef you cain’t through 
all four.” Bang barks Betsy; up jumps all de Injuns, two 
fells back dead behin’ de log, two goes runnin’ down de hill 
a-yellin’ as ef de OV Scratch wus arter ’em wid a sharp stick. 
[“H-yah, h-yah, h-yah!” Audience.] “I yi, you dogs!” 
says I, lungin’ out uf de bushes. “ Whoo-oop!” yells big 
Injun, a-jerkin’ his tommyhawk out uf de tree and flingin’ 
it whizz at my head. I knocks it away wid my ax an’ 
drives on. Here comes anudder a-whizzin’. Knocks dat 
off, too, still a-drivin’ on at ’im. “ I yi, you dogs ! ” Anud- 
der tommyhawk ready to fly. I knocks dat out de big In- 
jun’s ban’. Big Injun jumps back’ards, I jumps for’ards, 
my ax high up an’ ready fur a cleaver. Ko chance fur big 
Injun; ef he starts to run, it’s a split in de back; ef he 
jumps to one side, it ’s a gash in de neck. De cleaver ’s 
a-comin’ down, when here, wid a duck uf de head, comes 
Injun right at me, his shoulder under my arm. Down 
draps de ax, a-stickin’ in de groun’ atwixt his heels. Bes’ 
thing he could a-done fur hisse’f — cunnin’ as a fox. 

Den, ladies an’ gen’lemen, we clinches, an’ away we goes 


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a-plungin’ an’ a-whirlin’ ; through de bushes an’ through de 
fire, roun’ an’ roun’ de logs, roun’ an’ roun’ de trees, roun’ an’ 
roun’ de hill. Now I tosses ’im up tel his heels kicked de 
Jim’s uf de trees, he’s so long; but eb’ry time I thinks I’s 
gwine to bring him down kervvollop, down he comes wid all 
his feet under him, like a cat. Activest thing I eber seed — 
he ’s so long. Den he picks me up an’ shakes me, dang-a- 
lang-a-downy-yo, as ef I ’s nothin’ but a string-j’inted lim- 
ber-jack. But when I at’s him ag’in, to lock legs or kick 
ankles, dar he ’s ’way off* yander, a-tippin’ it on his toes, like 
a killdee. No gittin’ a-nigh him, he ’s so active, he ’s so 
long. 

By an’ by I happens to look ’roun’. Dar ’s de dead var- 
mint in de blue coat an’ ruffled shirt up ag’in, wid his gun 
on de log, an’ p’intin’ right at my ribs. “Ouch!” ses I, an’ 
flings Black Thunder atwix. Black Thunder flings me 
back fur de pop. Back I flings him ag’in atwix. Den him 
me ag’in, me him ag’in, an’ all de time de dead varmint 
a-follerin’ us wid his gun, waitin’ to pop my flanks. So, de 
dead varmint kep’ me watch in’ so close, an’ de live varmint 
kep’ me movin’ so fas’, I didn’t know what I’s doin’, 
could n’t tell whar I ’s gwine. Dar I was, rammed close up 
in a corner atwix a tree an’ a log ; no gittin’ out, no Hingin’ 
big Injun atwix. Dead varmint takin’ his aim — finger on 
trigger, ready to pull. “ Burlman Kennuls,” ses I to my- 
se’f, “ you ’s a goner,” when dar comes Grumbo a-pitchin’ — 
no stoppin’ to smell noses. One long lunge he makes, one 
long, stretchin’ lunge — sich a lunge I neber seed a dog 
make befo’. ’Beared as ef he’d lef’ his hin’ parts way 
back yander, to git de quicker at de varmint’s throat wid 
his fo’parts. Back falls Injun, wid a kick an’ a yell; off 
goes gun, wid a kick an’ a bang, the bullet a-whizzin’ right 
’twix’ our noses. “Ouch!” ses 1. “Ugh!” says Black 
Thunder. [Audience: “I yi!” “Oho!” “U-gooh!” See 


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Glossary. It may have been a coincidence, but just here 
Grumbo fetched the stump a ratifying rap of the tail.] 

Ah ! ladies an’ gen’lemen [patting his comrade-in-arms on 
the head], you do n’t know how glad I wus to see dat dog. 
An’ white folks say dat Grumbo ’s got no humin feelin’s. 
Git out! Den I takes a long bref, Grumbo still a-holdin’ 
fas’ to de dead varmint. “ Burlman Eennuls,” says I to 
myse’f, “ de big Injun ’s too active fur you — too much like 
a cat fur you. You cain’t throw him down, but you kin let 
him throw you down; an’ once a-flat uf yo’ back on de 
groun’ you kin wollop him ober as easy as turnin’ a pan- 
cake, den chaw him up any way you please.” So, I pushes 
him hard- — he pushes me back still harder— when down we 
comes, kerwollop, chug — nigger below, Injun on top. But, 
in de shake uf a sheep’s tail, nigger comes up, Injun goes 
down. I grabs fur' my knife. It ’s gone^ — slipped out in de 
scuffle. Big Injun grabs fur his knife; dat ’s gone, too. 
He jerks out his pipe an’ breaks it in flinders ober my head. 
“Ouch!” says I. I looks rouii’ fur somethin’ good fur 
heatin’ out brains, an’ dar lays my ax. I grabs it up, now 
ready fur a cleaver, an’ no mistake. Big Injun ain’t, though ; 
he ain’t ready fur any sich a thing. Up he comes wid a 
whirl, an’ down I goes wid a fling, my ax a-flyin’ way out 
yander. But in de wriggle uf a buck’s tail comes up nig- 
ger ag’in; goes down Injun ag’in. Yes, an’ a leetle mo’ 
dan dat: nigger an’ Injun clean ober de turn uf de hill, 
an’ now a-slidin’, slidin’ down whar it wus steep as a house- 
ruff. 

“ Burlman Rennuls,” ses I to myself, “ whar you gwine? 
Dis ain’t de sort uf groun’ fur you. You cain’t manage de 
Injun here on de steep hill-side — he ’s too active fur you ; 
he ’s too long fur you ; he ’s too much like a painter fur you. 
Git to a lebel country, Burlman Rennuls; git to a lebel 
country quick as you kin.” Den I hugs him up tight in 


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my arms, an’ locks him up tight in my legs, an’ ’way down 
de steep hill, rollin’, rumblin’, an’ tumblin’ we go — fus’ nig- 
ger on top, den Injun’ — ober an’ ober, fas’er an’ fas’er. 
[The orator revolving his fists one round the other with in- 
creasing rapidity.] 

“Burlman Rennuls, whar you gwine?” Don’t know 
whar, but dat we ’s rollin’ fas’er an’ fas’er, an’ dat we ’s 
startin’ de rocks to rollin’ too, a-hoppin’ an’ pitchin’ behin’ 
us as ef dey ’s in fur a frolic. Now we ’s all in a whirl 
down dar at de foot uf de hill, an’ no lebel country — noth- 
in’ but' a leanin’-ober river-bank forty foot high. “Burl- 
man Rennuls, whar you gwine?” Do n’t know whar. But 
ober we pitches a-whirlin’ [throwing out one of the revolv- 
ing fists at a tangent] — down we draps into water full forty 
foot deep, kerslash ; de rocks a-pitchin’ in arter us thick as 
hail. [Audience : “ Laws-a-marcy ! ” “ Goodness gracious ! ” 
“ Hoo-weep ! ” (with a whistle). After an impressive pause 
the speaker, with an impressive gesture, resumed his excit- 
ing story.] 

Now, ladies an’ gen’lemen, you ’s thinkin’ dat ’s de las’ uf 
Burlman Rennuls, an’ dis his ghos’ up here on de stump 
a-talkin’ to you. ’T ain’t so : Burlman Rennuls pulled out ; 
pulled out, I say. Ef he did n’t he would n’t be up here 
a-tellin’ you uf it. I ups an’ looks roun’, big Injun ups an’ 
looks roun’. I pulls fur big Injun, big Injun pulls for Ian’. 
Bes’ swimmer; gits dar fus’, an’ ter keep me from landin’ 
too, ’gins beatin’ me back wid rocks, wid no more kunsid- 
eration fur de feelin’s uf a gen’leman dan ef I ’d been a 
shell-backed tarapin. Whack comes one uf de rocks on my 
head. “Ouch!” an’ down I dives. “Burlman Rennuls,” 
ses I to myself, down dar in de bottom uf de riber, “ whar 
ar’ you come to? Not whar you started to go. Dis ain’t 
yo’ lebel country. Dis won’t do. Big Injun too much fur 
you in water. Git out uf de water quick as you kin. Two 


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loaded guns up dar on top uf de hill. You scratch out an’ 
git de guns, an’ yo’ day’s work ’s ober.” 

So, I ups ag’in ; an’ dis time under de leanin’-over bank, ^ 
whar de cane-brake wus, de roots uf de brake a-hangin’ 
down ’mos’ to de water. Now comes de rocks ag’in, as thick 
as hail. Grabbin’ de cane-brakes, up I goes, han’ ober han’, 
han’ ober han’. De rocks stop flyin’. I looks behin’ me to 
see fur why. Dar goes Black Thunder drivin’ ’cross de 
riber down at de riffle, makin’ de water fly befo’ him like 
a runaway hoss. O my little marster! Up I goes, in 
double-quick time. Half way up I sees a painfer a-grinnin’ 
down at me frum a tree on de bank. Did n’t like his looks, 
but climbed on. 

[Here the speaker was interrupted by a voice from the 
audience: “Cap’n Rennuls, see yer now; ain’t you lettin’ 
on?”] 

You g’ long! Who stops fur painters in a pinch like dat, 
or anything else? Ef I ’d turned back den would I be 
here now to tell you uf it? Git out! So, painter, or what 
not, up I scrabbles, ober de bank wid a tug, an’ through de 
brake wid a squeeze, tel dar I wus at de foot uf de hill. O 
my little marster! [A woman’s voice in the audience: 
“Tsht, tsht, tsht! Pore little feller!” See Glossary.] 

Up we goes a-scratchin’ ; pullin’ at de bushes an’ weeds 
an’ grass ter help us ’long, an’ tearin’ dem up, like flax on . 
a rainy day. Injun has flirder ter go, but longer legs ter 
go wid. So he gits ter de top uf de hill as quick as me — 
him nighest his gun, me nighest my ax. He ’s reachin’ his 
han’ out fur de gun, my han’ ’s on my ax a’ready, an’ at 
him de ax goes whizzin’, an’ pops him plump on de hip, an’ 
ober he tumbles. I runs to pick up my ax, dis time ter give 
de tough varmint a cleaver, or neber. He can’t run, he 
can’t crawl ; but he kin wollop, an’ wollop he does, like a 
rooster wid his head cut off*. In de flash uf a gun-flint, dar 


he ’s wolloped hisse’f to de turn uf de hill. I sends my ax 
wid a good-by arter him, an’ gives him a gash in de arm to 
’member me by. He sends me back a grin an’ a whoop, 
an’ away big Injun goes rollin’ an’ tumblin’. I grabs up a 
gun — his own gun it was — an’ sends him a long far’ well. He 
sends back a yell — de o-f-f-ullest yell I eber heerd in all my 
bo’n days ; ofFul enough ter come frum a grave-yard. Out 
comes spirtin’ de blood, a-flyin’ frum de rollin’ body like 
water frum a flutter - mill. Down to de foot uf de hill 
a-whirlin’ he goes, tel ober de bank uf de riber he pitches. 
An’ dat ’s de las’ I sees uf big Injun. [Audience: “I yi!” 
“Oho!” “U-gooh!”] 

“ Burlman Rennuls,” ses I to myself, still p’intin’ my gun 
at de bank, “ yo’ day’s work ’s done.” But hain’t hardly 
said it when, “Burl, Burl!” ses Bushie; “Bow-wow,” ses 
Grumbo ; and “ w-h-izz,” ses a tommyhawk, grazin’ my nose 
an’ stickin’ itse’f in a tree by my side. [Here hurling the 
identical tomahawk over the heads of the wincing listeners 
and sinking it in a tree behind them. “ Goodness gracious, 
Bu’lman Bennuls, how you skeer a pusson!” exclaimed a 
finical female voice in the audience. It may have been 
another coincidence, but just here Grumbo fetched the 
stump another ratifying rap of the tail.] 

I wheels about, an’ dar ’s t’ udder dead varmint up on his 
legs an’ a-comin’ at me wid his knife, but Grumbo holdin’ 
him back by de coat-tail. “ I yi, you dogs ! ” an’ at him I 
go — grabs his knife, clinches his throat, when down to de 
groun’ we come — Injun, nigger, an’ dog, dog-fashion, all in 
a pile togedder. 

[“Cap’ll Rennuls,” said a voice in the audience, “ef de 
varmint wus a dead one, how could he do all dat like a live 
one?”] 

You g’ long! Dat ’s none uf my lookout. Ef it wus n’t 
as I tell you, would de young Injun be dar in my doo’ now, 


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smokin’ his pipe? Ef you won’t b’lieve me ax him; an’ ef 
you can’t take his word fur it, ax Grumbo. [Audience: 
“H-yah, h-yah, h-yah!” “Shucks!” See Glossary. And 
here again, too roundly and soundly for mere coincidence, 
Grumbo fetched the stump a ratifying rap of the tail, that 
said as plainly as a dog’s tail ever said any thing: “Yea, 
and I ’ll swear to it.”] 

But we have followed our black Munchausen through the 
least w’onderful part of his story, as narrated by himself; 
and further than this, for reasons already hinted, we dare 
not venture, the facts of the narrative here beginning to 
grow tame again, and the narrator’s fancies wide. So we 
shall leave our lion to go on roaring it out into the ears of 
his colored admirers to his heart’s satisfaction, till he is 
empty and they are full. At last, after blowing and puffing 
for nearly an hour in the popular ear, the windy story, ta- 
pering off with a little facetious gas designed for the ladies, 
found its way to an end, and dismissing his audience with a 
majestic wave of his war-cap. Big Black Burl came down 
from the rostrum. 


Gbapter XV. 

How Big Black Burl Sewed it Up in His War-cap. 

B y the time the Fighting Nigger had made an end of blow- 
ing his trumpet, the shadows of the long summer twilight 
had deepened into the shades of night, reminding him that 
it was high time he should be looking after the comfort of 
his captive guest. While the blowing and roaring had been 
going on from the stump, the young Indian had remained 
seated on the cabin door-sill, tranquilly smoking his pipe, 
the odorus contents of which showed forth at long and reg- 
ular intervals in a dull-red glow from the dusky shadow of 
the cabin-shed. Taking him in. Burl hospitably yielded up 
to his guest his own bed — the bear-skin bed he was so proud 
of and loved so much to sleep on — spreading for himself in- 
stead a buffalo-rug on the floor. In a little while the spirit 
of sleep had descended on every weary soul in the fort — all 
save the w^akeful Grumbo, who, crouched on his bear-skin 
out there under the shed, maintained, as was his habit, vig- 
ilant watch through the livelong night. 

Now that his great adventure had been brought to a hap- 
py end, the Fighting Nigger must once more doff his bear- 
skin cap — the cap of w’^ar — and don, instead, his coon-skin 
cap — the cap of peace; hang his battle-ax up on the wall, 
and lay his hand to the plow ; muzzle his war-dog, and bridle 
his plow-horse ; and leave the war-path in the forest to tread 
the peace-path in the fleld. 

Accordingly, early next morning, having duly discharged 
his office as host for the time being, and left his guest to a 

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pipe of tobacco and quiet meditation, Burl was about be- 
taking himself to his labors in the field, when his little mas- 
ter came running out to his cabin with word that Miss Je- 
mima wished to speak with him before he left the fort. Re- 
spectfully uncapping himself even before reaching her pres- 
ence, the faithful fellow came, and showing the left shoulder 
and bushy head of him from round the edge of the door 
and looking side-long into the room where his mistress was 
sitting, said in answer to her summons, “Yes ’um.” 

“I have sent for you. Burl,” began Mrs. Reynolds with 
kindly seriousness of tone and manner, “to tell you how 
thankful I am for the good and brave part you have done 
by me and my poor fatherless boy, and to reward you in the 
best way I can.” Here she paused. 

“Yes ’um,” said Burl, not knowing what else to say, and 
looking hard at Grumbo, who, as if he had been summoned 
too, had followed his master, and now, seated on his haunches 
in the door-way, was listening with grave attention to what 
was going on — hoping, no doubt, that severe measures were 
at last about to be taken with regard to the red barbarian. 

Mrs. Reynolds resumed : “ While you were gone. Burl, I sat 
here in my great distress and made a solemn promise to 
myself and to Heaven, that if you were permitted to bring 
me back my child alive and well, I would give you your 
freedom at once, as the only fitting reward I had it in my 
power to bestow for so gneat a proof of your fidelity and 
love to us.” 

“Now, Miss Jemimy!” exclaimed Burl in a tone of re- 
monstrance, the water welling up in his great ox-like eyes. 

“Yes, but I must do it,” rejoined his mistress. “Heaven 
has heard my prayer, and I must keep my promise. Faith- 
ful and good have you been to us, and richly deserve the 
reward I offer. Would it were in my power to give you 
more.” 


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‘‘Now, Miss Jeinimy!” repeated Burl, in the same toae, 
“ you need n’t, indeed you need n’t.” And seeing that his 
mistress had had her say, he seized upon the subject with 
sudden energy, and thus unburdened his mind : “ Miss Je- 
mimy, I do n’t want my freedom ; I ’s no use fur it. Hain’t 
I got de bes’ mistus in de worl’ an’ de finest little marster? 
Hain’t I got a gun an’ a dog? Plenty to eat an’ plenty to 
w’ar? A whole cabin to myse’f, an’ Saturday ev’nin’s to go 
a-huntin’ an’ a-fishin’ ef I likes? De only thing I hain’t got 
an’ would like ter hab — dough dat ’s no fault uf yourn. 
Miss Jemimy — is a white skin. Ef I had a white skin, den 
might I hab my freedom an’ know wEar’s my place an’ 
W'ho ’s my comp’ny. As I is, turn me out free an’ whar ’s 
my place? No whar. Who ’s my comp’ny ? Nobody. Too 
good fur common niggers, not good ’nough fur white folks. 
What den wwld I be? A Ingin I s’pose. Sooner be Grum- 
bo dar dan a Injun. Den Miss Jemimy wants to make a 
red varmint uf her ol’ nigger. Git out! ’Scuse me. Miss 
Jemimy; I did n’t go to say dat ter you. But I ’s bery glad 
an’ thankful to hear you talk dat way. Makes me gladder 
to be what I is, so glad to be what I is, I won’t be nothin’ 
else ef I kin he’p it.” 

Deeply touched at this new proof of fidelity and self-sac- 
rifice, yet not a little amused withal at the droll shape in 
which it came, Mrs. Beynolds rejoined: “Well, Burl, you 
can do as you please, but so far as my will and wishes can 
make you free, free you are from this day forth, either to go 
and play or stay and work. My promise is given, never to 
be recalled.” 

“ Den, Miss Jemimy,” replied Burl with look and tone of 
deep respect, “ef you’s gwine ter let me do’s I please, w’y 
den, I pleases to stay.” 

Then, showing the whole of himself, excepting one arm 
and one leg, from round the edge of the door-way, and now 
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rising into the oratorical, Burlman Reynolds proceeded to 
give his opinions upon the subject, having already expressed 
his feelings. “Miss Jemimy,” with an impressive gesture, 
“dare ’s reason in all things. Now, ef I had Tamin’, could 
read in a book, write on paper, figger on a slate, count up 
money, tel de names of de mont’s, an’ alwus say how oT I is 
when axed, an’ all sich things like white folks, w’y den, 
dare ’d be some sense in a great he-nigger like me doin’ what 
I please, gwine whar I please — free-papers in pockets. But 
ef I has my freedom an’ hain’t got Tamin’ to match it, den 
would I be like — like — ” looking about him for a compari- 
son, till chancing to cast his eye on his dog, a thing pat sug- 
gested itself. “ W’y, Miss Jemimy, one uf de red varmints 
me an’ Grumbo chawed up yisterdy had on a blue coat an’ 
ruffle shirt along with his ragetty rawhide tags an’ fedders. 
Thought I neber seed nothin’ look so scan’lus. ‘Red var- 
mint,’ says I to him, ‘ coat an’ no breeches won’t do, shirt an’ 
no breeches won’t do.’ An’ now says I to Miss Jemimy, ‘ F ree- 
dom an’ no Tamin’ won’t do no mo’ dan shirt an’ no breeches.’ 

“Now, look at de Injuns.” [Presenting the subject in 
another light.] “Dey has der freedom, kin do what dey 
please, kin go whar dey please, an’ what do dey do ? Do n’t 
do nothin’ but hunt an’ fish an’ fight. Whar do dey go? 
W’y, jes’ a-rippin’ an’ tearin’ all ober de worT, ’sturbin’ 
peacable people, keepin’ dem mizzible an’ onsituwated. So 
you see, de Ingun, dough he has 'his freedom, ain’t nothin’ 
arter all but a red varmint. An’ fur why? Beca’se he 
hain’t got Tamin’ fur to tell him what to do wid his freedom, 
dat ’s why. So dey needs somebody to tell ’em what to do 
an’ make ’em do it. Yes, an’ dar’s some white folks, too, 
who hain’t got Tamin’ an’ do n’t know much better what to 
do wid dare freedom dan Injuns an’ free niggers, dough dey 
do n’t think so demselves, an’ would knock a nigger down 
fur sayin’ it. An’ dem ’s my ’pinions on dat p’int. 


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“An’ Miss Jemimy” [here Burl lowered his voice and 
looked at his mistress with solemn earnestness], “ have you 
forgot how I promised Mars Bushrod I ’d do what I could 
fur his wife an’ pore little boy ? All a pore nigger could fur 
white folks in dat way, an’ wouldn’t neber stop a-doin’ it? 
An’ s’ posin’ ef I was ter leabe ’em now, what would dey do? 

Who-o-o’d ” Here he choked up and broke down, and 

clapping his coon-skin cap on his head and pulling it down over 
his eyes. Burl turned abruptly and walked hurriedly away. 
Ten minutes after, mounted on his plow-horse, and with 
the big round tears playing at leap-frog down his face, he 
w as riding along the bridle-path through the w^oods on his 
way to the corn-held, singing at the top of his huge, melodi- 
ous voice : 

“ Squirly is a pretty bird.” 

And that morning the sylvan wilds were kept resounding 
with the heart-easing, blithesome mii-sic w^hich bespoke the 
thankfulness and the gladness of the singer’s heart. It was 
the happiest morning he had ever known in all his life, and 
yet, despite an unaccountable accident of birth that had 
brought into the world so noble a soul with an ebony hide 
and fleecy head, the poor fellow had known a thousand 
mornings nearly as happy. He was having his rew^ard. 
But at about eleven o’clock the singing suddenly ceased— so 
suddenly, indeed, that any one w^ho might have been listen- 
ing w^ould have said, “Assuredly something unusual has 
happened to Burlman Reynolds ; something has struck him— 
perhaps an Indian bullet.” 

But when, in answ^er to the dinner-horn, the plow’man 
came riding slowdy home, it w’as evident from his unw^onted 
seriousness of look and manner that a thought had struck 
the mind, not a bullet the body of Burlman Reynolds. It 
w^as further evident from the absent-minded way in which 
he fed Cornw'allis, throwing him tw’o dozen instead of one 


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dozen ears of corn ; and further still, from the absent-minded 
way in which he fed himself, leaving his bacon untoasted 
and eating nothing but bonny-clabber and corn-dodgers. 
Nor again that day was there an echo in the woods to tell 
that Big Black Burl was at his cheerful labors in the field. 
Yet, though the voice was silent, the heart went singing on, 
and the burden of the tune it sung was, “Bery glad an’ 
bery thankful.” That evening after supper, having smoked 
a sociable pipe with his Indian guest in the twilight under 
his cabin-shed, Burl picked up his coon-skin cap and, with- 
out putting it on, carried it in his hand with profound re- 
spect to Miss Jemimy’s door, where by early candle-light, 
she was putting Bushie to bed. Showing one shoulder and 
his bushy head from round the edge of the door-way, he 
looked in, and by way of breaking the subject uppermost in 
his thoughts, cleared his throat and said, “Yes ’um.” 

“Well, Burl, what is it?” kindly inquired his mis- 
tress. 

“ ’Scuse me. Miss Jemimy, but I ’s come to tell you I ’s 

been thinkin’ ” pausing; and as he still hesitated, his 

mistress said: “Yes, so you have; I knew as much al- 
ready, not having heard a song from you since dinner-time. 
Out with it, then ; I am ready to hear you.” 

“Well, Miss Jemimy, it ’s jes’ dis. We ’s all pore mortal 
creeters, made of clay, you know ; no tellin’ who ’ll be took 
away fus’, who ’ll be lef’ behin’.” Another pause. 

“Nothing could be truer. Burl,” rejoined his mistress; 
“ and yet not always right pleasant to think of. But go on, 
and speak your mind freely.” 

“Well, Miss Jemimy, bein’ sich pore mortal creeters as we 
is, dare ’s no tellin’ who ’ll be took away fus’, who ’ll be lef’ 
behin’. ’Sense me, ef you please.” 

“And you are thinking that you might be left behind,” 
added his mistress. 


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“You’ve hit it ’zac’ly on de head, Miss Jemimy; dat ’s 
jes’ de thing I ’s wantin’ to say, but was afeered uf hurtin’ 
feelin’s. Hope you do n’t think hard uf me fur havin’ sich 
thoughts. But bein’, as I wus sayin’, de pore mortal creet- 
ers we is, some pussons is boun’ to drap off sooner dan oders, 
some boun’ to be lef ’ bellin’ ; an’ dar ’s no tollin’ who de 
whos will be. Sich things mus’ happen, an’ nobody’s fault, 
you know.” 

“It is all just as you say. Burl,” replied his mistress. 
“So go on without more ado, and tell me exactly what is in 
your mind, and no fear of hurting feelings.” 

“ Thank you. Miss Jemimy, fur talkin’ dat way ; it makes 
me easy. So I ’ll go on an’ tell it all, jes’ as I ’s been 
thinkin’ it. Eber sence late dis mornin’ I ’s been sayin’ to 
myse’f out yander in de corn-fiel’: ‘We ’s all pore mortal 
creeters made uf clay — no tollin’ who ’ll be took ’way fus’, 
who ’ll be lef’ behin’. Den s’posin’,’ ses I, ‘ s’posin’ ef my 
good missus an’ sAveet little marster might be took ’way fus’, 
an’ der ol’ nigger lef’ behin’, Avhat den? W’y, mebbe jes’ 
dis : some white man I neber liked or neber knoAved might 
come ’long a-sayin’ to me: “You belongs to me noAV, I ’s 
paid my money fur you ; you go ploAV in my fiel’, go chop in 
my woods, go mow in my medder ; I hain’t bought yo’ AAufe 
an’ chil’en — no use fur dem ; so jes’ make up yo’ min’ to 
leabe ’em an’ come ’long.” Den Burlman Rennuls be very 
sorry he did n’t take Avhat his good mistus wanted so much 
to give him long time ago.’ So I goes on thinkin’ it ober 
an’ ober eber so long, till ses I to myse’f, ‘ I ’ll go to Miss 
Jemimy dis bery night an’ say to her: “Miss Jemimy,” ses 
I, “ Ave ’s all pore mortal creeters made uf clay, no tollin’ 
Avho ’ll be took aAvay fus’, Avho ’ll be lef’ behin’ ; ” an’ my 
good missus Avill knoAV Avhat I mean.’ So I ’s come an’ sed 
it. But min’ you. Miss Jemimy, min’ you noAV, I ’m ’tirely 
Avillin’ to w^ork fur you an’ my little marster all my days — 


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’d ruther do it. But sich a thing might happen dat you 
two might be took away fus’, an’ yo’ ol’ nigger lef’ behin’. 
Den I ’d a leetle ruther be free. I do n’t know, arter all, 
but freedom ’s a bery good thing to hab eben ef we hain’t 
got I’arnin’ to match it. Dat is, ef we kin hab it an’ not 
let it make fools uf us — set us a-thinkin’ we ’s got nuthin’ 
to do but lay in de shade an’ kick up our heels. A nigger 
need n’t make sich a show uf his freedom as de red varmint 
uf his ruffle shirt an’ blue coat; jes’ tie it up in a snug little 
bundle to tote along wid him an’ let folks know he has it, 
an' dat ’ll be ’nuff fur any use. So I ’s thinkin’ I ’ll come 
an’ say: ‘Miss Jemimy,’ ses I, ‘bein’ as you want so much 
to do it, w’y den, ef you please, jes’ write it down on a piece 
uf paper how, in case you an’ my little marster might be 
took away fus’, you wants yo’ ol’ nigger to hab his freedom.’ 
Den I ’ll sew it up in my b’ar-skin cap, to keep it till de 
time comes, ef de time mus’ come, so I kin say to de fus’ 
white man who comes ’long a-claimin’ me, ‘ I yi, my larky,’ 
pullin’ out my free-papers. But, min’ you now. Miss Jemi- 
my, I do n’t want you to be a-thinkin’ dat I ’ll be a-hopin’ 
fur de time to come so I kin go rippin’ an’ tearin’ ’bout de 
country, like some no-’ count, raggetty, dirty free niggers 
I ’s seed afore now, wdio, beca’se dey could do what dey 
pleased, did n’t please to do nuthin’. ’T ain’t so. I ’s sed 
it afore, an’ I ’ll say it ag’in, I ’ll do what I kin fur my good 
missus an’ my sw^eet little marster — all a pore nigger kin fur 
white folks in dat way, an’ won’t neber stop a-doin’ it ; an’ 
I mean to keep my word.” 

And right wdllingly did Miss Jemimy according to her 
faithful servant’s wishes, writing it down on a “ piece of pa- 
per,” clear and full, not forgetting to take such steps as 
should make the document good and valid in the eyes of the 
law. Then, having wrapped it up carefully in a piece of 
buckskin made water-proof and sweat-proof by bear’s-grease 


Burl. 


135 


rubbed in, Burl, with an awl and two wax-ends, sewed it up 
securely in the crown of his bear-skin cap. And, as the 
poor fellow was never left behind, there it remained for the 
rest of his days, with never a hope that he might some day 
have occasion to use it — never one regret that he had not 
accepted at once the priceless blessing it offered. 


How Big Black Burl Figured on the Peace-path. 


I T were long, and needless too, to tell of every thing that 
happened in and around our little fort during the fort- 
night the young Indian remained a captive among the 
Whites. Captive, however, we should hardly call him, since 
he was left entirely at liberty to go whithersoever he chose ; 
and there was nothing to hinder him from walking back to 
Chillicothe, his home, whenever the humor might seize him, 
except a nice sense of honor and a crippled arm. Every 
morning, after he had cheered his solitude with a pipe of 
tobacco, Kumshakah — for that was the young Indian’s name 
— accompanied by Bushie, would go and present himself at 
Mrs. Beynolds’s door, that, according to her express desire, 
he might have his Avound dressed. Though grave and re- 
served in his demeanor toward every one else, Kumshakah 
could show himself talkative and affable enough Avhen alone 
with Shekee-thepatee (“ Little Baccoon”), as he called his lit- 
tle white friend Bushie. For hours together Avould these two 
loving chums — for such they soon became — keep up a lively, 
confidential interchange of thought and sentiment, each in 
his own language, and evidently quite as much to the oth- 
er’s entertainment as to his own satisfaction, which was 
rather remarkable, seeing that neither understood a word 
the other was saying. The other children of the fort, hold- 
ing the red stranger in too great awe and dread to trust 
themselves within his reach, would watch the two with sharp 
curiosity from a distance, admiring and envying the courage 
(13H) 


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and easy assurance with which their playfellow could rub 
against so terrible a creature as a skin-clad, feather-crested 
Indian warrior, who was always whittling with his scalping- 
knife. 

Every day the pair would take a long ramble into the 
forest, in the course of which they never failed to go or come 
by the corn-field, where Big Black Burl — his feet in the 
peace-path, his head in his peace-cap, his heart in his peace- 
song — was tickling the fat ribs of mother earth with a plow, 
to make her laugh with johnny-cakes and pumpkin-pies for 
his little master. Kumshakah had given his big black 
friend also a new name, Mish-mugwa (“ Big Bear”); the 
title being suggested, no doubt, by the Fighting Nigger’s 
bear-skin rigging no less than by his size, color, and strength. 
Always on catching his first glimpse of them, where side by 
side they sat on the topmost rail of the fence, Mish-mugwa 
would cut short his singing and send forward his wonted 
salutation, “I yi, you dogs!” Not failing at such times to 
discover that old “Corny” was sweating and would like to 
blow awhile, our black Cincinnatus would run his plow into 
a shady corner, and, likewise taking his seat on the fence, 
square himself for a little edifying conversation. 

These visits were the white spots in the day to Burl. 
Apart from the pretext they gave him of resting from his 
work, they afforded him an opportunity of airing his achieve- 
ments as a hunter, and his exploits as a warrior — i. e., of 
hearing himself talk. As the young Indian understood not 
a word of what was said to him, he had but to sit and listen, 
which he would do with grave and decorous attention, com- 
posedly smoking his pipe the while, with his bright eyes 
fixed on the distant green or blue before him. Once fairly 
going on this strain, the Fighting Nigger would never stop 
until he had made a squeezed lemon of every red “ varmint ” 
whose “top-knot” he had to show for proof and trophy of his 


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prowess, winding up with a careful enumeration of all the 
scalps he had ever taken, telling them slowly off on his 
fingers, that his Indian guest might take a note of it, if so 
minded. Often, before our big black Munchausen had blown 
his fill, our little white Munchausen, fired by the illustrious 
example of his pattern, would come gallantly dashing in, to 
give his exploits and achievements a little airing likewise. 
He had caught with alarming aptitude his pattern’s invent- 
iveness and proneness to exaggeration; so that, before let- 
ting them go, his dogs and cats were sure to swell into wolves 
and panthers, his garter-snakes into rattlesnakes, his bel- 
lowing bull-frogs into roaring buffalo-bulls, and his white 
calves, seen in the dark, into “ghostises.” Nor was Burl 
unwilling to listen ; for, though so fond of talking himself, 
and so good a talker too, he -was one of the best listeners in 
the world. This trait will seem the more commendable in 
our hero when we reflect how rarely we find the good talker 
and the good listener conjoined — more rarely, indeed, than 
the good talker and the exemplar of every Christian virtue; 
so rarely, in fact, that w^e marvel so few of the good talkers 
have made the discovery for themselves. So to these sallies 
of his “little man” Burl would listen with indulgent, con- 
descending attention, or with a broad grin of mingled incre- 
dulity and admiration; expressing the latter sentiment by 
such exclamations as “I yi!” “Oho!” “U-gooh!” “Hoo- 
W'eep!” [with a whistle]; the former sentiment by such in- 
terrogative phrases as, “See here now!” “Ain’t you lettin’ 
on?” “Ain’t de little man gwine leetle too fur jes’ dar?” 
“Hadn’t my little man better rein up his horses now?” 
-—just by way of keeping his juvenile imitator in the beaten 
track of the impossible, within the orthodox limits of the 
marvelous. 

Thus seated side by side, on the top of the scraggy corn- 
field fence, would these three worthies, so strikingly different 


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one from the other, while away the warm summer hours; 
often, too, long after old Cornwallis, there dozing so content- 
edly in the shade of the over-leaning wood, had dried off 
and recovered the breath he had not lost. Perhaps, at such 
times, instead of keeping his eyes on some invisible point in 
the atmosphere, Kumshakah would be employing them and 
his hands in the fashioning of two pipes — one of black stone, 
the other of white stone. On the bowl of the white stone 
pipe he carved the figure of a little raccoon, on the bowl 
of the black stone pipe the figure of a big bear — both pipes 
neatly executed, and the two figures passable likenesses. 
When he had finished the pipes, and fitted to them stems, 
handsomely ornamented with the feathers of birds, Kum- 
shakah presented the black pipe to Mish-mugwa, the white 
pipe to Shekee-thepatee, and to the infinite delight of both ; 
of Bushie, chiefly because he saw in his a token of his red 
friend’s love; of Burl, chiefly because he saw in his the only 
thing lacking to give completeness to his martial rigging — a 
war-pipe. 

All this time Grumbo maintained toward every one, not 
even excepting his master, a grim, severe reserve — keeping 
much alone, seldom indulging in cooked meat, more seldom 
still in raw, and never tasting his corn-dodgers. The red 
barbarian, in particular, he regarded with an evil eye — hold- 
ing him in worse and worse odor, as the rest received him 
into higher and higher favor. Time and again did the cap- 
tain essay to explain to his lieutenant how matters stood be- 
tween them and their prisoner, but in vain. With that con- 
sistency of mind and fixedness of purpose for w^hich he was 
remarkable, our canine hero stubbornly persisted in making^ 
it manifest thnt he was not a dog to be whistled, rubbed, and 
patted into winking at a measure so lax as that of allowing 
a red “ varmint ” to run at large in their midst, without even 
so much as a block and chain to hamper the freedom of his 


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movements, or some sign to bespeak his inferiority to men 
and dogs. Perhaps, like some perverse people we have 
known, Grumbo took particular delight in being unsatisfac- 
tory to every one but himself. Or, perhaps by the observ- 
ance of this policy he meant to reproach his renegade leader 
for suffering himself to be so easily led away from the or- 
thodox faith in which they had lived so long and happily 
together, and had acted in such harmonious concert. Per- 
haps, too, it was meant as a warning that unless he should be 
given some assurance that business should hereafter be done 
up in the regular, scientific way, he would break with the 
captain altogether, and attach himself to the fortunes of 
some other leader, more consistent and better fitted to com- 
mand, and who should have a more just appreciation of 
what was due a brave and faithful follower. 

But our four-footed hero, like many a two-footed hero we 
have read of, w^as doomed in his day and generation to be 
misunderstood, unappreciated, maligned, neglected. As us- 
ual in such cases, the result was a total upsetting in the 
mind of the injured one of all orthodox notions of human 
nature and the eternal fitness of things. I should hardly 
express myself so boldly were I not backed by the testimo- 
ny of some of Grumbo’s own contemporaries, by whom I 
have been informed that, a few weeks after the events I am 
relating, his dogship renounced human society and a mixed 
diet altogether, and withdrawing himself from the pale of 
the civilized world to the solitudes of the forest, there, for 
the rest of his days, lived the life of a misanthropic hermit. 
According to other contemporaneous testimony, however, no 
less deserving our serious consideration, an ebony -monster, 
with a woolly head and flat nose, but walking erect on two 
legs, and in other respects bearing a striking resemblance to 
man, had something to do wdth the mysterious disappearance 
of our canine hero from the theater of human action. Moved 


Burl. 


141 


with envy and spite at beholding the Fighting Nigger’s re- 
no'wn and at hearing his praises in the popular mouth, and 
itching to inflict upon the object thereof the greatest possible 
injury he could, with the least possible risk to himself, this 
ebony monster secretly, and in the most dastardly manner, 
poisoned the heroic Grumbo — thus cutting short his career 
of glory in the very prime and flower of his doghood. Be 
all this as it may, of one thing we are sure, that after that 
ever-to-be-remembered flrst of June, 1789, never w^as the 
war-dog seen again on the war-path with Captain Reynolds, 
the Fighting Nigger, the Big Black Brave with a Bushy 
Head, Mish-mugwa. 

It was a beautiful Sabbath morning “ in the leafy month 
of June.” Blue and sunny and loving hung the sky above 
the dark, green, perilous wilderness, where our pioneer fa- 
thers, in daily jeopardy of their lives, were struggling to 
secure for themselves and their children after them a home 
in the land so highly favored by Heaven. That morning, 
on presenting himself at Mrs. Reynolds’s door, Kumshakah 
was pronounced by the good woman to be healed of his 
wound, and told that he might now depart in peace to his 
own land and people. 

* With a sorrowful face Burl took down the young Indian’s 
rifle from where it had lain with the others in the rifle-hooks 
against his cabin wall, and having cleaned and loaded it 
W’ith care, returned it to its owner, along with his powder- 
horn and ammunition-pouch, liberally reenforced with am- 
munition from his own store. Then he arrayed himself 
from top to toe in his martial rigging, proposing, as it was 
Sunday, to escort his captive guest some miles into the wil- 
derness, till he had seen him safe across the* border. Hav- 
ing, through Burl’s influence, gained his mother’s permis- 
sion to accompany them, Bushie, likewise in honor of the 
occasion, had put on a clean homespun cotton shirt and a 


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pair of buckskin moccasins, which, with the eagle feathers 
in his coon-skin cap and his white stone pipe worn toma- 
hawk-wise in his girdle, lent him quite a holiday appearance. 
All being ready, the three then went to Mrs. Reynolds’s 
door, that Kumshakah might bid farewell to his kind 
hostess. 

“Farewell, Kumshakah,” said the good woman, extend- 
ing her hand. “ May the Great Father of us all, whom you 
call the Great Spirit, have you now and have you ever in his 
holy keeping, and reward you according to your wondrous 
kindness to my poor helpless boy in his hour of need.” 

With deep respect the young brave approached and took 
the proffered hand, which, with delicate emphasis, he shook 
just once, and there was a shining in his bright, wild eyes, 
as eloquent of gratitude as had it been the glistening of a 
tear. In further answer to her words, the purport whereof 
he had read in her face and voice, he made a brief speech 
in his own language, which, spoken in tones deep, melodi- 
ous, and earnest, and delivered with singular grace and dig- 
nity, ever after lived in the white mother’s remembrance 
like a strain of music, which, though unintelligible to the 
ear, is understood and echoed by the heart. Then the 
young Indian turned and, followed by Burl and Bushie, 
walked slowly and thoughtfully away. 

As side by side they pursued their tramp through the 
green entanglements of the forest, the black hunter was far 
less talkative than usual, and the red hunter scarcely spoke 
at all, though, Indian-like, listening with respectful attention 
whenever his companion seemed to be addressing him in 
particular. But, as if reserving all his regrets for the part- 
ing moment, Bushie — now mounted on Burl’s shoulder, now 
walking hand in hand with Kumshakah — kept up a lively 
prattle which never ceased, and to which the others listened 
with pleased ears. Sometimes, while riding aloft, he would 


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amuse himself by catching at the slender, pliant branches 
of the trees brought within his reach, which he would draw 
after him as far as he could bend them, then letting them 
fly back, leave them swinging to and fro. At length, as if 
this amusement had suggested it to his mind, the boy struck 
up a cadence from one of Burl’s songs, singing in a clear, 
piping voice : 

An’ de jay-bird flew away — 

De jay-bird flew away — 

An’ lef’ de lim’ a-swingin’ — 

A-s wingin’. 

“ Mils’ n’t sing sich songs on Sunday, Bushie — sing hymns 
on Sunday. So, j’ine in wid me an’ help me sing Caneyan’s 
Happy Sho’ for Kumshy, pore Kumshy, who ’s gwine to 
leabe us, neber to come no mo’. It ’ll do him good.” 

So, joining their voices, they sung a simple hymn which, 
with a plaintive melody expressive of yearning, had for its 
burden the following words : 

O dat will be joyful, joyful, joyful, 

O dat will be joyful, to meet to part no jnore ; 

To meet to part no more. 

On Caneyan’s happy shore; 

An’ dar we ’ll meet at Jesus’ feet. 

An’ meet to part no more. 

At noon they reached the spot where, a fortnight before, 
Kumshakah brought down the eagle, which, stripped of its 
plumage and still bleeding. Burl had found on the trail a 
few hours after. Here a spring of clear, cool, sparkling 
water gurgled out from underneath a moss-grown rock in 
the hill-side, and here they halted. They quenched their 
thirst from the spring, then seating themselves on the moss- 
grown trunk of a fallen tree that lay near by. Burl and 
Kumshakah lighted their pipes and sat for many minutes 
smoking in thoughtful, even melancholy, silence, For, 
strange as it may seem, though neither had spoken a word 


144 


B URL, 


intelligible to the other since the beginning of their acquaint- 
ance, a decided and cordial friendship had sprung up be- 
tween the Fighting Nigger and his Indian captive, inso- 
much that they were now very loath to part. But the 
feeling which had arisen between the young Indian and the 
little white boy was of a far more tender nature, each be- 
holding in the other the preserver of his life, and with a 
mutual gratitude heightened by mutual admiration. Such 
is the power of instinct, which can discover what words, 
might try to reveal and fail. Their pipes smoked out, they 
broke their fast on some jerked venison and buttered john- 
ny-cakes, which Burl, hospitable to the last, had brought 
along in his hunting-pouch. By the time they had finished 
their simple repast and smoked another pipe, the forest 
shadows had slowly shifted round from west to east, and were 
now beginning perceptibly to lengthen, admonishing them 
that the hour was come when they must part and go their 
separate w^ays. 

But something more remained yet to be done. Taking 
the white stone pipe which he had carved for Shekee-the- 
patee and filling its virgin bowl with tobacco, Kumshakah 
lighted it, and slowdy, with great solemnity, drew" a few 
w"hiffs therefrom, then offered it to Mish-mugwa. This the 
young Indian did in token of his earnest wish that the peace 
and friendship now existing betw'een them should endure 
from that day forth, let come what might, and that the 
sentiment, thus consecrated, should be cherished as in some 
sort a solemn and religious duty. Poor Burl did not know 
that Indians had any ceremonies at all; nor, until his ac- 
quaintance with Kumshakah, that they had any thing in 
common w"ith the human race, excepting the art of fight- 
ing, and, to a limited degree, as it seemed to him, the power 
of speech. So, till he had gone home that night and told 
the white hunters of the circumstance, he could but vaguely 


Burl. 


145 


guess at the sentiment to which this simple ceremony of 
smoking the peace-pipe gave expression. Nevertheless, with 
that facility at entering, for the time being, into the feel- 
ings, thoughts, and ways of others peculiar to his race, and 
which is due to self-unconscious imitation rather than to 
self-determined adaptability, Mish-mugwa took the proffered 
symbol of peace and friendship, and with a solemnity that 
would have seemed ludicrous to any one but a black man 
or a red man, gave just as many whiffs as he had seen Kum- 
shakah give, then, with the air of one who knew as well as 
anybody what he was doing, returned the pipe to Kumsha- 
kah. 

The peace-pipe emptied of its ashes and returned to its 
owmer,. the young brave rose at once and silently extended 
his hand. Burl seized it with a huge, devouring grip that 
w^ould have made any one but an Indian wince, and with a 
big, round, stag-like tear in either big, round, ox-like eye, 
thus bid farewell : “ Good-by, Kumshy. De good Lord go 
wid you all yo’ days. Come an’ see us ag’in — Miss Jemi- 
my an’ Mishy-muggy an’ Sheky-depatty ; Mishy-muggy ’s me, 
you know, an’ Sheky-depatty ’s Bushie. Come an’ see us all 
ag’iu. Good-by.” 

Then going up to Bushie, Kumshakah shook him, like- 
wise, by the hand; the dear little fellow, without saying a 
word, gazing up wistfully into the young Indian’s face, his 
blue eyes brimming over with tears. But when he saw his 
red friend going at last, then did the affectionate Shekee- 
thepatee lift up his voice and weep aloud. 

“Come back, Kumshakah!” he cried; “come back, and 
live with us, and never leave us, Kumshakah ! ” 

The young Indian wheeled about and returned, took the 
chubby hand again in his, and with tender gravity shook it 
gently, very gently. As he did so, a mistiness came over 
his bright, wild eyes, which, when he had turned again to 
10 


146 


Burl. 


go, must — if ever Indian warrior weeps — have gathered into 
a tear. With wdstful eyes, Burl and Bushie followed the 
swiftly receding form of their red friend, wdio never turned 
to look at them till he had gained the crest of a distant hill 
to the north. Here he faced about and remained for many 
moments gazing back at them ; his graceful figure, his wild 
dress, and his rifle in sharp relief against a patch of blue sky, 
gleaming through an opening in the forest beyond. In final 
farewell Burl waved his cap. Kumshakah answered with a 
wide wave of the hand ; then, turning, quickly vanished be- 
hind the hill, to be seen no more. With sorrowful hearts. 
Burl and Bushie turned likewise, and retraced their steps to 
Fort Reynolds. 

From that day forward, never again did Captain Rey- 
nolds, the Fighting Nigger, the Big Black Brave with a 
Bushy Head, Mish-mugwa, lay the bloody hand on the scalp- 
lock of a fallen foe. 


Chapter XVH. 

How THE Glory of His Race Figured in His Rising. 

L isten I There lived an Indian — a sachem of the powerful 
and warlike Shawnees; an Indian who loved his wild 
people, his wild land, and his wild freedom dearer than his 
life, and for their defense and weal he labored and fought 
and died. Why and how, and to what end — listen ! 

The sachem looked around him. He saw his people, 
wasted to but the shadow of what they once were, slowly 
moving toward the setting sun. He saw them at deadly 
strife one wdth another — tribe with tribe, and kindred with 
kindred. He marked how they were falling away from the 
sober lives and pure faith of their fathers, and losing their 
wdld independence in the slothful and corrupting habits of 
vagabond existence. He beheld his native wilderness grad- 
ually waning as from before a slow-approaching, far-extended 
fire. In terror at the sight, the animals of the chase, so need- 
ful to man in the savage state, went flitting by, outstripping 
his people in their journey toward the setting sun. 

The sachem looked far forth toward the regions of the 
rising sun, and there beheld the civilized and powerful white 
man, whose star of empire was leading him onward in his 
resistless progress toward the mighty rivers and the boundless 
plains of the far West — the land of the future. The power- 
ful stranger laid his hand upon the woody hills, and they 
smoked; he set his foot upon the grassy plains, and they 
withered. He lifted the hand of violence against the red sons 
of the forest, and they fled ; he breathed upon them, and they 

(147) 


148 


Burl. 


became diseased, corrupt, and feeble; he sowed the seeds of 
strife among them, and straightway they fell to wrangling 
and warring one with another, more fiercely than ever be- 
fore ; he stretched his long arm over their heads and thrust 
his terrible sw^ord into the heart of their wilderness, now 
here, now there, saying : “ This pleasant valley is mine, here 
will I make my dwelling-place; this fertile plain is mine, 
it shall yield me riches; this broad river is mine, it shall 
be a highway between my great towns. Then, westward, 
red man, farther westward; nor think of rest, while you 
have the setting sun and this fair land before you ! ” Still 
onward and westward the white man held his ever-widen- 
ing, overwhelming course. A little while and the red man 
should not have in all the green earth where to lay his 
weary head and say: “This is my home — here dwelt my 
fathers before me, and here they lie buried ; here with them 
shall I rest when my race is run.” The sachem saw all this, 
and his mighty spirit was stirred wdthin him. 

“ The Shemanols,” * said the sachem to his people, “ have 
united their seventeen great fires f into one, and the union 
has made them strong and happy. We must profit by the 
example. I will go forth among the tribes of red men, and 
by the help of the Great Spirit unite them into one people ; 
make of them a dam to stay the flow of this mighty water, 
lest it utterly sweep away our forest and cast us like drift- 
wood, broken and scattered, on the far-off shores beneath 
the setting sun. We have warned the white stranger to 
come no farther, but have spoken to the winds that hear not ; 
we have entreated him to come no farther, but have prayed 
to the rocks that feel not. Then, let him come. I see his war- 
riors in the east, in the south, in the north, and in numbers 
like the leaves of the forest when rolling and rustling before 

*The Shawnese for Americans. fThe seventeen States of the 
Union. 


Burl. 


149 


the blasts of autumli. Shall the sachem of the Shawnees 
tremble? Shall they say he hated the foe of his race and 
feared him? I too have my warriors, strong and brave and 
true ; and many a forest and mountain and plain, left us by 
our fathers, have we still behind us and around us. Then 
let us stand up like men and defend them. Or, if fall we 
must, at least then here, where lie our fathers, let us leave 
our bones to cry out against the destroyer of our race, and 
our dust to poison the air his children shall breathe. If 
such must be our fate, it is well. Wahcoudah’s will be 
done!” 

Then did the sachem gird up his loins and go forth, like 
a strong man armed for the battle. Verily, it was a vast 
enterprise, difficult and hazardous — all but hopeless; but 
his spirit, strong to endure and brave to encounter, rose with 
it. From the great lakes of the North to the flowery forests 
of the far South, from the great hills of the East to the 
grassy plains of the far West, month after month, year after 
year, from hopeful youth to sober prime, he roamed the wil- 
derness. Everywhere he called upon his countrymen to 
cease from warring among themselves and unite their tribes, 
that as one people they might stand up in the defense of 
their native land, given them by the Master of Life to be 
the one home and common possession of them all. 

To impress their minds with the necessity of such a league 
he held up before them the example of their white invaders, 
wffio had united all their “great fires” into one, and in that 
union had found strength, harmony, and prosperity. He 
appealed to every sentiment in human nature that can rouse 
to high and noble purpose — ^the love of country, of kindred, 
of freedom, of glory. He flattered their pride with glowing 
allusions to the antiquity and renown of their race, and by 
repeating to them their traditions which described them as 
having once been the favorite children of the Great Spirit, 


150 


B URL, 


and again to be taken under his peculiar care whenever they 
should return to the bosom of their ancient brotherhood, and 
to the sober, simple habits and the pure faith of their fa- 
thers. He roused their resentment and the desire of venge- 
ance by holding up to them the wrongs which they had 
suffered at the hands of the proud and powerful pale-face, 
whose presence in their midst had grown insupportable, and 
whose onward progress, unless checked at once, would soon 
become irresistible. He threatened them with disgrace, 
poverty, and ruin — yea, the final extinction of their race, 
which would assuredly be visited upon them, should they 
neglect or delay to profit by his warning. 

His labors grew upon him, yet wearied him not ; disap- 
pointments bafiled his endeavors, but discouraged him not ; 
difficulties- met him at every step, but turned him not aside ; 
dangers thickened around him, but daunted him not ; unto- 
ward conjunctures confused and enfeebled his vast scheme, 
but shook not the constant purpose of his mind; friends 
dissuaded, rivals opposed, enemies threatened, traitors un- 
dermined — still the heroic sachem, unshaken, undismayed, 
unsubdued, maintained his course onward and upward in 
the high destiny which long years before he had marked out 
for himself, and his trust was in the Great Spirit. 

When he first set out on his great mission, this wandering 
patriot of the wilderness found the minds of his countrymen 
so cowed with fear, or so benumbed with indifference as to 
their fate, that there was scarcely a man among them all, 
outside his own near kindred, to lend him an ear, or join 
him in his self-imposed, herculean labor. But toward the 
end, when every hill and valley, plain and forest, river and 
lake of the great North-west had been made to resound full 
many a year with the echoes^ of that awakening voice, be- 
hold the result. Persuaded that their hour of deliverance 
and vengeance was come at last, thousands of the tawny 


B URL. 


151 


warriors of the wilderness, drawn from the numerous tribes 
which he had succeeded in uniting, came flocking around 
him, ready to do his bidding, as one commissioned by the 
Great Spirit to be their leader and deliverer. Never, since 
their first landing on the Continent, had the whites beheld 
arrayed against them, by the energy and power of one mind, 
a league of the Indian tribes so formidable and wide-spread. 

That the sachem was in error, there can of course be no 
doubt — all are wdio undertake to withstand the progress 
of a Christian civilization; but no less certain is it that he 
erred not because his heart w^as wrong, but that his mind 
was unenlightened. And in fair truth, with such limited 
view’s as to the right and wrong in human motive and ac- 
tion as the rude, narrow’ sphere in which his lot was cast 
enabled him to make, what other course could he in his 
ow n judgment have chosen, without dishonor to himself and 
injury to the people whose weal he most assuredly had ear- 
nestly at heart. Had his mind — crude as his ow’n wilderness, 
as vast too, and as fertile and varied — been duly cultivated 
and enlightened, he would not have viewed the progress of 
civilization as a destroying flood, against which it behooved 
him as a patriot to array his people, lest thereby they be 
sw’ept away from the earth. Kather would he have per- 
ceived that it was a life-giving, beneficent light, into w’hich 
it w’as his highest duty, as a lover of the great brotherhood 
of man, to lead his people, that with it they might spread 
themselves over the earth, and in it grow strong and pros- 
perous and happy. 

During all this time, though his labors were of a nature 
to keep the wrongs and woes of his people and the pow’er 
and pride of their white oppressors continually fresh in his 
mind, never did the savage hero lift the hand of violence 
against the aged, the helpless, or the unarmed. To his 
magnanimous spirit, Indian heathen though he was, the 


152 


B URL, 


captive was a sacred trust, and many a man of the hated 
race, thrown by the chances of war within their direful 
grasp, did he rescue from horrible death at the hands of his 
injured and exasperated countrymen. The booty taken by 
his hands from the whites in their raids across the border 
was immense; but the spoils of war, though he might well 
have claimed the lion’s share, he left, with magnificent gen- 
erosity, to his followers — the glory of war being all that a 
true hero could covet. 

In his habits of life the sachem was abstemious even to 
austerity, yet frank and popular in his manners, entering 
heartily into the rude amusements and athletic sports of his 
people. In the latter, such was his strength and activity 
of body, he rarely met his equal; and in hunting and 
wood-craft he was, even in the eyes of his hunter-race, a 
marvel of skill and address. He was the very soul of in- 
tegrity and truth ; and though born of a race proverbial for 
cunning and craft, he was of a nature singularly frank and 
straightforward, as he showed by the boldness and openness 
with which he was accustomed, even in the presence of his 
enemies, to acknowledge and discuss his great project. 

As a warrior-chieftain, he stands unrivaled in the barba- 
rous traditions of his race, and as an orator, with scarcely a 
superior. His oratory was of the highest order, inasmuch 
as it was the outgrowth of a great intellect, active, power- 
ful, and wide-grasping in its operations, and the outpouring 
of a mighty spirit, deep and earnest, pure and generous, and 
often sublime in its emotions. Whenever he made the great 
mission of his life the theme of his declamations — and he 
took every suitable occasion for doing so — let his listeners 
be friends or foes, his appearance, at all times striking and 
prepossessing in the extreme, became as that of one inspired. 
His ample chest expanded with noble feeling ; every gesture 
of his hand, every movement and posture of his command- 


B URL, 


153 


ing form, grew eloquent with meaning. Unmasked of its 
habitual cast of reserve, his handsome face, clear, strong, 
and firm in its lines, yet flexible in its play of muscle and 
feature, reflected with mirror-like distinctness the passing 
emotions of his heart. His eye, eagle-like in its unflinch- 
ing brightness, flashed forth the lightnings of the fiery and 
haughty spirit within. Language, direct in its unstudied 
simplicity, graphic and vigorous, and glowing with the 
thoughts and images of a luminous though unpolished mind, 
flowed from his lips majestic and resistless. Added to all 
was that awakening voice whose echoes had so long re- 
sounded through the great North-west. Now it rang out, 
stern, abrupt, imperious, like the call of a trumpet to battle; 
now softened down to tones broken, tender, and pitying as 
those of a bereaved father sorrowing over his hapless chil- 
dren; then, as visions of the utter extinction of his race 
would break upon his prophetic soul, it would come wailing 
out like the despairing cry of a Hebrew prophet lamenting 
the impending desolation of Zion. 

Such was Tecumseh. Thus he lived, this Indian Hanni- 
bal ; thus he rose, this Glory of his Race. 


Chapter XVIH. 

How THE Eagle and the Lion and the Big Bear 
Figured in the Great North-west. 

T oward the dose of a hazy October day, in the year 
1813, two small armies might have been seen, and ac- 
cording to history were seen, moving along the banks of the 
river Thames. Not the Thames which, after winding among 
the pleasure-grounds of the English gentry and through the 
great city of London, under ever so many bridges, emptied 
its waters into the German Ocean; but the Thames which, 
after winding among the forest-slopes of Canada West and 
through or by no cities at all, nor under any bridges what- 
ever, discharged its waters into Lake St. Clair. So, along 
the Canadian Thames, at the time just named, two small 
armies were to be seen, each measuring ground with un- 
common expedition ; the foremost hurriedly, being in loose 
retreat ; the hindmost rapidly, being in tight pursuit. Over 
the van of the retreating army ungallantly dangled the 
crimson, lion -emblazoned banner of the United Kingdom 
of Great Britain and Ireland ; over the van of the pursuing 
army gallantly waved the tri-colored, star-emblazoned, eagle- 
capped flag of the United States of America. 

The Second War between Great Britain and the United 
States had now been going on for many a tedious month ; 
sometimes languidly, sometimes spasmodically, never ener- 
getically. Like a slow, dull fever, it had wasted and enfee- 
bled the two countries without redounding more to the profit 
of the one than to the glory of the other ; and the glory being 
( 154 ) 


B URL. 


155 


too scant to be divided between them, they wisely left the 
crimson fog to the humor of the winds. How the winds 
disposed of it, the world has never heard. 

And the great Indian sachem had become the ally of the 
little English king. And wEy? Because the little English 
king and his rich people had promised the great Indian 
sachem and his poor people to restore to them their heredi- 
tary lauds if they would take up the hatchet and help their 
great father — the little English king — to wrest the lands in 
question fi*om the Americans, the children who had behaved 
so unbecomingly to the great father thirty-seven years be- 
fore. The hereditary lands in question were in fact but the 
disputed territory, the principal . cause of the contests be- 
tween the two white powers, hence not so much to be viewed 
as a lost inheritance to be restored to the rightful owners as 
a prize to be secured by the rival claimants. John Bull 
said, “It is mine, because I took it from the French;” 
Brother Jonathan said, “It is mine, because I took it from 
the English;” while neither party gave any heed to the 
poor Indian, w'ho never ceased saying, “ It is mine, because 
my fathers gave it to me, and the Great Spirit gave it to my 
fathers.” 

A hard, hard necessity must it have been which could 
have forced the poor, hunted wanderers of the wilderness to 
fly for refuge and protection from the talons and beak of 
the eagle to the claws and teeth of the lion. It was but a 
change, and made with but little hope of its being for the 
better. None saw this more clearly, felt it more deeply, 
than the sagacious Tecumseh ; and his proud spirit groaned 
under the humiliating thought that after all he and his war- 
riors were not viewed as allies having an equal interest in 
the result of the struggle going on, but rather as instru- 
ments merely, which might be made useful to the purpose in 
hand, then dropped. To use his own expression: “They 


156 


B URL. 


were but a pack of starved hounds, hallooed upon the Amer- 
icans by the English.” 

Along the Northern lakes and rivers full many a battle 
had been fought — on a small scale, it is true, but bloody 
and ugly enough, especially to the Americans, who up to 
this time had usually been the worsted party. But now 
the fortunes of war were beginning to turn in our favor. 
Perry had won his brilliant little naval victory over the 
English fleet on Lake Erie, and had written to the Secre- 
tary of the Navy with Csesar-like conciseness: “We have 
met the enemy, and they are ours!” By land, too, the 
British had been met and beaten back at every point, till 
now they were without a foothold on the disputed territory — 
the hereditary lands. 

But, true to himself, true to the now quite hopeless cause 
for which he had labored and fought s© long, the magnani- 
mous sachem still kept his faith with the great father un- 
broken and inviolable, while the great father was immensely 
less concerned that he had failed to restore the hereditary 
lands to his red allies than that he had failed to wrest the 
disputed territory from his white enemies. So the little 
English king went on sipping his dainty wines in his marble 
palace over yonder on the other side of the globe, and took 
no further thought of the great Indian sachem who was 
breaking his heart over here in the wilderness of America, 
as true to his ally as had he been a Christian, baptized by 
an apostolic successor into the Church of England. 

But to make another start toward the end of our story. 
The English people, like the majority of mankind, are a 
good enough people in a general way, and in a general way, 
like those of most nations, their soldiers are brave enough. 
Good people, yet they have had their bad rulers — the great 
father, for example ; and their brave soldiers have had their 
cowardly leaders — for example, General Proctor; concern- 


Burl. 157 

ing whom we must now say something— a very little; the 
least possible. 

Having with unsoldierly dispatch cleared his red skirts 
of the disputed territory, groAvn at least too hot for comfort, 
this Proctor — a fat poltroon — was now in hurried retreat 
through the forest- wilds of Canada West, at the head, not 
the rear, of an army composed of about nine hundred Brit- 
ish regulars and tw^o thousand Indian allies under the lead- 
ership of Tecumseh. On, in swift pursuit, with a stretch of 
about a half day’s march between, came General Harrison — 
a gaunt hero — at the head, not the rear, of an army consist- 
ing of two companies of United States regulars and about 
three thousand volunteers, nearly all of whom were tall, 
stahvart Kentuckians, under the leadership of General Shel- 
by, the venerable Governor of Kentucky. Ko Indian allies. 
In the van of the pursuing army, at the head of his regi- 
ment of mounted riflemen, one thousand strong, the very 
flower of green Kentucky’s chivalry, rode Colonel Kichard 
M. Johnson, afterward made Vice-president of the United 
States by his grateful countrymen, because — rumpsey- 
dumpsey — Dick had killed Tecumseh. 

And there in the van, at the head of his company of 
mounted riflemen, mounted on a splendid Kentucky bay, 
and rigged out in his dashing backwoods uniform, rode 
Captain Bushrod Reynolds, whom we left tw^enty-four years 
ago in the Paradise a sturdy urchin of nine, and still a can- 
didate for breeches and boots. Yes, there he rode, a tall, 
athletic man, in the prime of his days, frank-faced, clear- 
eyed, bold-browed, and with a nose that had gradually 
ripened from the pug into the Roman, as he had ripened in 
years and experience, just as we predicted when drawing 
his portrait where he sat on the topmost rail of a scraggy 
worm-fence, w’atching the squirrels and crows. Nor was it 
less true that he had become a married man and a man of 


158 


Burl. 


family, and a captain too — all pretty much as the far-seeing 
Burl had prophesied at the same early period. 

At present, however, having been married but a year, his 
family was small. For, since reaching the stature and years 
of manhood, Bushrod Reynolds had spent many years in 
the great North-west, where as an Indian-trader he had 
pushed his fortunes with great energy and success, yet with 
clean hands, never in all the time selling or bartering a sin- 
gle gallon of whisky to the Indians — a virtue quite rare, we 
fear, in Indian-traders, and one for which he was highly 
commended by Tecumseh himself, who never drank any 
thing but w^ater. The address, prudence, and integrity he 
displayed in this vocation had attracted the notice of Gen- 
eral Harrison, then Governor of the North-west Territory, 
through whose influence the young Kentuckian received 
the appointment of United States Indian Agent in that 
quarter. Here again he had acquitted himself in the 
same clean-handed manner, never touching a dollar of 
the money intrusted to him, saving so far as officially au- 
thorized. 

And there, conspicuous among the camp-followers, with a 
fund of good humor and laughter rich enough to keep the 
whole rear of the army in spirits, even when cut down to 
short rations and pushed to long marches — there, gigantic 
as life and shaggy with bear-skin from top to toe, was our 
old friend Big Black Burl — Cap’n Reimuls, the Fighting 
Nigger, the Big Black Brave with a Bushy Head, Mish- 
mugwa — whom we left twenty-four years ago in the Para- 
dise, treading with unmoccasined feet the peace-path, and 
Ailing the resounding woods from morning till night with 
the echoes of his peace-songs. Yes, as gigantic as life, and 
still as jolly as gigantic, with never a regret in all these 
years of servile toil that he had sewed it up in his bear-skin 
cap instead of accepting at once the priceless blessing which 


B URL, 


159 


his good mistress, in the unspeakable gratitude of her moth- 
er’s heart, had bidden him to take as his forever. 

Time and the world had evidently dealt kindly by our 
hero, the ebony smoothness of his wide-snouted mug un- 
furrowed as yet by those lines of care and thought we so 
often find disfiguring the faces of Shem and Japheth, nor 
grizzled yet his fleecy locks, although he had left, his fiftieth 
year behind him — an age when the heads of most men begin 
to whiten under the snows of life’s winter. For all that, 
though they may not have brought him wrinkles and whit- 
ened his locks, the passing years had brought him wisdom 
and whitened the color of his thoughts, once so crimson. 
In proof Avhereof, he had long since taken unto himself a 
wife, and was now the father of a large family of large chil- 
dren. In further proof, he had long since left off fighting 
and gone to preaching, there being now in the Paradise more 
black sinners to be mended than red heathen to be demol- 
ished ; more friends to be led across the Jordan than foes to 
be driven across the Ohio. 

Preaching, in a general v/ay, is a good thing, and, in a 
particular w’ay, to him who loves to hear himself talk, a 
pleasant thing, and if he talks well, rather pleasant to oth- 
ers. Now, the Fighting Nigger loved to hear himself talk, 
but unlike many — too many — inflicted with that infirmity 
he talked well, as we have had frequent occasion to notice ; 
while again, unlike the majority of the few who talk well, 
he listened well, which, also, we have once or twice remarked. 
As his walks through life should lead him no more upon 
the war-path, and as his color and condition forbade his 
taking the stump, or appearing at the bar, or sitting in the 
senate-house, he needs must take to preaching, as the only 
shift by which he could hope to retain that preeminence 
among his fellows which his prowess in arms had won for 
him. Such a calling would give his oratorical powers full 


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scope — a desperate revival among the ebony brotherhood, 
from time to time, with two or three funeral-sermons to each 
lay brother or lay sister of peculiar sanctity, being just the 
thing to set them off to the highest advantage. Nor would 
this be all. While making the great display, he would be 
doing a little good — casting bread upon the waters, to be 
found many days hence; i. e,, spreading the glad tidings of 
damnation to nearly everybody born to die, and of salvation 
to a select few — just enough to keep the angels from getting 
lonesome — conspicuous among whom were our good old 
Abram, John Calvin, and Burlman Reynolds. 

The lucky sect thus reenforced w^as that once known as 
the Anti-missionary Baptists, sometimes called the “ Ironside 
Baptists,” sometimes the “ Hard-shell Baptists,” having, as is 
usually the case with hard cases, hard names. I use the 
expression “ once known,” since, if I mistake not, the order 
has, in these latter days, deceased ; dying of sheer decrepi- 
tude, with no weeping mourners around it, being intestate 
and insolvent, and is now to be numbered with the things 
that were — an old man’s tale, the blunder of an hour.* That 
so broad and warm and genial a nature as that of our hero 
should have gone for refuge and spiritual comfort to a creed 
so narrow, cold, and gloomy, admits of no easy explanation, 
especially when we consider that remarkable clearness of 
mental vision which enabled him to see the reason existing 
in all things ; often, too, when a Solomon, or a Socrates, or 
a Seneca, might have stared his eyes out in trying to see it 
for himself. But when he took to preaching, he was dwell- 
ing in the midst of a Hard-shell community ; and, perhaps, 
like the overwhelming majority of mankind, from enlight- 
ened to savage, from Christian to fetich, Burlman Reynolds 

* Since writing the above, the author lias learned that, outside of 
Kentucky, the sect alluded to still exists to some extent in some of 
the neighboring States. 


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was but chameleon to his surroundings. Yet, notwithstand- 
ing the somber complexion of his new vocation, and the 
more than somber complexion of his creed, outside of the 
pulpit his reverence was as genial, jolly, and joky as the 
cheeriest, smilingest, comfortingest, most latitudinarian Meth- 
odist preacher you ever had at your bedside to help you 
look your latter end in the face, through the dubious issues 
of a surprise attack of cramp colic, or an overwhelming on- 
slaught of cholera morbus. Indeed, it not unfrequently 
happens that the human heart is better than the human 
creed, and the Rev. Burlman Reynolds was wont to square 
his life by the dictates of his inward monitor rather than by 
the dogmas of his outward mentor. Many of these dictates 
he embodied in words, a few of which I shall take the lib- 
erty of quoting verbatim. Among them are some of his 
religious opinions, which Avill be found to have a somewhat 
latitudinarian smack, as is often the case where the heart is 
better than the creed: 

“ Dar ’s reason in all things, ef dar ’s reason in people.’^ 

“ Baptizin’ won’t do you no good, onless you let it wash 
you clean all ober, an’ keep you clean foreber.” 

“ Ef a pusson wants to be a Chrischun jes’ about in spots, 
w’y, den sprinklin’ will do ; but ef he wants to be a Chrischun 
all ober, he mus’ go clean under an’ make a soaker uf it.” 

“ De Lord ain’t gwine to lub you much, onless you lub 
yo’ neighbor.” 

“ Do n’t tickle yo’se’f a-thinkin’ you ’ll eber be a angel 
up dar, onless you ’s been a good S’mar’tan here.” 

“ De Lord help dem to ’lect dem who helps to ’lect dem- 
selves.” 

“ Do n’t you think, beca’se you ’s got a leetle grace, you 
kin do what you please in dis worl’, den say yo’ pra’rs be- 
fo’ you die an’ go right straight to heaben. G’ long wid 
sich grace!” 

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“ Whar ’s de use an’ de sense uf a pusson’s bein’ mizzible 
an’ out uf sorts when he ’s ’live an’ ain’t a-sufferin’, an’ got 
a good home to go to when it ’s all ober? Git out! ” 

Less elegant in manner, it may be, but quite as good, we 
think, in matter, as many a saw and dogma that have been 
flung at our foolish world, time out of mind. 

We have more than once paralleled our hero, in his pas- 
sion for martial renown, to Alexander the Great, Napoleon 
the Great, and Mumbo Jumbo the Great. Somewhat sin- 
gular to say, the parallel does not stop with this point of 
common resemblance. According to Mr. Abbott’s inter- 
minable eulogy — Mr. Abbott was an American and a cler- 
gyman, consequently a Republican and a Christian — the 
hero of the Russian Campaign, of Waterloo, etc., after his 
retirement to the Rock, became deeply interested in theolo- 
gy, fighting being no longer a pastime he could indulge in 
unless by pugilistic assault on the British guards, which, 
contrary to his past experience, would have been entirely 
at his own expense, hence uncomfortable. And here we 
find him talking so well — this grand disturber of the world’s 
j)eace — so profoundly, so beautifully, so reverently, of the 
Prince of Peace, that we cannot help w^ondering wLy he had 
never allowed some evidence of his religious sentiments to 
appear in his actions, when he stood so conspicuous before 
the world, and such a display w^ould have redounded so 
vastly to his credit — made him “the Washington of w^orlds 
betrayed.” 

As respects Alexander, the parallel still show’s a shadow, 
though over the left. The Fighting Nigger, upon retiring 
from his w’ar-path, tried his best to do the godly thing, and 
made his Christian convictions manifest in the life he wdshed 
to live. Alexander, on retiring from his great w’ar-path, 
tried to do the godlike thing, and made his heathenish hal- 
lucinations manifest in the death he did n’t wish to die. 


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As to the third worthy in our list, I cannot continue the 
parallel with due regard to facts, the imagination of the 
historian having thrown as yet no light on the latter days 
of the great Mu mho Jumbo. But that the parallel should 
be found to hold good to the last degree of coincidence, may 
safely be inferred from w’hat the lights of our age have been 
telling us for the last forty years of the latent saint inher- 
ent in the nature of ebony, from Ham, the favorite son of 
Noah, down to Uncle Tom, the best man that ever lived. 

But to return and make a third start toward the end of 
our story. When he heard that his young master had re- 
ceived a captaincy in the Johnson regiment of mounted 
riflemen — the finest regiment, by the way, that figured in 
the Second War— Big Black Burl felt his heart beginning 
to glow with the martial ardor of his younger days. But 
when he saw the young captain, where, in the broad green 
meadow in front of the house, he was drilling his company, 
all mounted on fine horses and arrayed in their gallant back- 
woods uniforms, then did Biirlman Reynolds feel the Fighting 
Nigger rising rampant within him, insomuch that he could 
not endure the thought of being left behind. So he made 
an earnest petition to his master to be allowed to go along, 
just to groom the “ Cap’n’s horse,” to clean the “ Cap’n’s 
gun,” and to see that the “ Cap’n always got plenty to eat — 
mo’ dan his dry rations— a squirrel, or a partridge, or eben 
a fat buck, which he an’ Betsy Grumbo would take a de- 
light in providin’ fur him.” And to humor the good old 
fellow. Captain Reynolds bid him go and don his bear-skin 
rigging, shoulder Betsy Grumbo, mount young Cornwallis, 
and take his place in the ranks of war. But here we are 
at the end of our chapter, and not a word of the figure the 
Big Bear made in the great North-west. This, though, 
amounts to but little — the omission amounting to nothing. 


Ghapter XIX. 

How Big Black Burl Figured at the Death-stake. 

B url had made it his habit, whenever the army halted 
and pitched tent for the night, to shoulder his rifle and 
take a solitary turn through the neighboring woods, if haply 
he might not bring down a squirrel, or a partridge, or it 
might be a fat buck, that the “ Cap’n ” might have some- 
thing juicy and savory wherewith to season and reenforce 
his sometimes scanty and never very palatable rations. But 
toward the close of this hazy October day, already thrice 
alluded to, when the army had encamped for the night, the 
humor, as luck would have it, seized Captain Reynolds to 
accompany his trusty forager in the accustomed evening 
hunt. So they set out together, and had not penetrated a 
mile into the forest to the northward, when on coming to a 
bushy dell they had the good fortune to start a fine buck, 
which Captain Reynolds brought down and had Burl to 
shoulder, proposing to take it whole to camp, that he might 
share it with his men. Hardly had they turned to retrace 
their steps, when suddenly, before Reynolds could reload 
his gun, or Burl disencumber himself of the buck, they 
found themselves completely surrounded by at least a dozen 
savages, who, hovering about the enemy’s van, had spied 
the stragglers and laid in ambuscade to capture them, though 
all but within rifle-range of the American pickets. Taken 
by surprise, and outnumbered two to one, any attempt at 
resistance or escape would have been instant death. So they 
surrendered at once, and quietly suffered themselves to be 
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stripped of their arms and accouterments, which being done 
in a twinkling, they were swiftly borne off through the 
w^oods. 

The audacious savages, having made two or three circuits 
to avoid the American outpost, set their faces due north-east, 
then pursued their course Avithout swerving to right or left. 
The sun Avent down, the moon came up, on those Canadian 
Avilds. Ever and anon, as SAviftly held they onAA^ard, other 
Indians, singly or in squads, would fall into the file, gliding 
from out the mingled gloom of forest shade and night, as 
suddenly and silently as the shapes which flit through 
troubled dreams. Among these, by and by, appeared a 
Avarrior of gigantic stature, Avho putting himself at the head 
of the file, stalked on a little in advance, and seemed to be 
their leader. 

Captain Keynolds now felt convinced that they had fallen 
into the hands of some of Tecumseh’s scouts, through whom 
that vigilant leader kept himself continually informed of the 
enemy’s movements, if, peradventure, at some moment he 
might find them off their guard, either to be drawn into an 
ambuscade by day or surprised in camp by night. Un- 
swervingly due north-east the night -marchers held their 
course for several miles, the AA^arrior gliding on before them, 
like a gigantic specter there to lead them over the shadoAvy 
borders of another world. So it seemed to Burl, who felt 
his spirit strangely troubled Avithin him whenever an open- 
ing through the forest, letting in the hazy glimmer of the 
moon, brought that huge bulk less vaguely before his eyes ; 
and once in particular, as they neared the summit of a big 
bald hill, Avhen the warrior for an instant towered in lofty, 
dim relief against the starry sky. Toward midnight, the 
party descended from the upland forest into the valley of 
the Thames, and shortly afterAvard reached the Indian camp. 
Here the prisoners Avere placed in the custody of fresh keep- 


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Burl, 


ers, aud all lay down to rest, stretched out on the ground 
near one of the numerous camp-fires which, by this time 
burning low, shone like great glow-worms along the side of 
the valley. 

The dim light of another hazy October day was creeping 
chillily over those forest wilds, when a heavy hand shaking 
him roughly by the shoulder roused Big Black Burl from 
his slumbers. Scrambling to his feet, and drowsily looking 
around him through that foggy confusion of thought and 
perception through which sons of ebony after a sound sleep 
needs must pass in getting back to their waking senses, the 
black hunter caught a broad, vague view of something which 
made him fancy that he was still flat of his back on the 
ground and dreaming of the giant warrior who had led in 
the night-march. The moment after, more at himself, yet 
lingering still on the misty borders of nod-land, he fancied 
that what he saw just there before him must surely be a 
ghost; and at this horrible thought the negro gave a big 
start, which brought him by a shorter cut than usual out 
of his sleepy fog into the clear light of his wide-awake senses. 
All but wdthin reach of his hand, there stood before him in 
bodily form that terrible Wyandot giant Black Thunder — 
that redoubtable warrior whom the Fighting Nigger had so 
long and fondly fancied he had slain in valiant fight, and 
his victory over whom he had ever since held up and trump- 
eted abroad as the crowning glory of all his martial exploits. 
The recognition was mutual, for never had either seen the 
other’s like but once before, and that, too, under circum- 
stances which neither was ever likely to forget. If the rec- 
ognition w'as mutual, so was the surprise. 

“ Ugh ! ” exclaimed the Indian, as he bent his wild, pan- 
ther-like eye on the^black giant with a look of undisguised 
astonishment, which gradually darkened into a smile of fe- 
rocious joy and triumph. 


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“U-gooh!” exclaimed the negro, as he fixed his wild, 
ox-like eye unflinchingly on the red giant, but with a look 
of unspeakable amazement, which gradually vanished, leav- 
ing his face with a cast as impenetrable as black marble. 

Having surveyed his captive from top to toe in exulting 
silence for some moments. Black Thunder turned abruptly 
on his heel and strode away, to be seen no more that morn- 
ing. Burl w^as still staring after his old acquaintance when 
his young master, who had with some surprise witnessed the 
dumb-show of mutual recognition, came up and inquired what 
it meant. Burl explained, and having noticed the ugly smile 
with w^hich he had been regarded, could not help forebod- 
ing the terrible fate that must await them if their lives lay 
at the mercy of that revengeful savage whom he had once 
made bite the dust. 

By this time the allied English and Indian armies were 
all astir, and the disorderly retreat began afresh, Tecum- 
seh keeping his Indian brigade half a mile in the rear of 
the regulars. Toward the middle of the afternoon the party 
that had the W’hite prisoners in keeping, having gradually, 
fallen behind the line of march, abruptly turned into the 
mouth of a dingle which, deep and shadowy, opened gloom- 
ily into the valley of the Thames. Here, for the first time 
since morning, our luckless hunters spied Black Thunder, 
w here a little farther wuthin th^ dingle, as if there in wait- 
ing for them, he was vehemently, though not loudly, ha- 
ranguing some fifteen or tw^enty of his warriors who, clus- 
tered in a close red knot before him, were taking in with 
ravenous ears his every w^ord. Evidently the evil, fore- 
boded by Burl in the morning, was in some shape near at 
hand, for a fierce gesture flung toward them from time to 
time by the speaker, with the vengeful glances of his listen- 
ers in the same direction, told but too plainly the drift of 
the harangue. At length, as if to make the surer of their 


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savage sympathies and give the climax to his barbarous 
appeal, Black Thunder suddenly threw back his robe and 
disclosed to view two scars — a deep and ugly one in the 
arm, a long and ghastly one athwart the breast. Whereat 
uprose a chorus of yells expressive not so much of savage 
sympathy as of savage delight. The moment after, seized 
and dragged to the nearest tree and bound to it hand and 
foot, with brush-wood to feed the devouring flames heaped 
up against him to his shoulders, there stood Big Black Burl, 
a victim doomed to the fiery tortures of the death-stake. 

Helpless himself. Captain Reynolds could not choose but 
stand where he was and become a witness of the harrowing 
spectacle — too harrowing for any Christian eye to behold, 
even were the victim but the poor dumb brute, who has 
only his bowlings to tell of his agony; but that his affec- 
tionate, faithful, brave old Burl should ever have come to a 
fate so terrible, wrung his heart with unspeakable anguish^ 
anguish the keener, when he reflected that this had never 
been but for that very heroism which, on ti beautiful sum- 
mer morning in the days long gone, had wrought deliver- 
ance to him, a forlorn little captive, and restored him to the 
love of a lone and widowed mother. O that ever this should 
be! And the strong man wept, as wept had he never till 
that sad day. 

“O Mars’er Bushie!” cri^d Burl, in a firm, even , comfort- 
ing voice, “do n’t you cry for yo’ pore ol’ nigger. ’T won’t 
be long ’fore he ’ll be turnin’ up all right in de kingdom. 
Soon or late, w’e mus’ all come to de end uf our journey; an’ 
dis arter all ’s but a short cut to glory. Ef you eber slips 
de clutches uf dese wretches, Mars’er Bushie, an’ libes to git 
back home, tell eb’rybody good-by fur me. Tell Miss Je- 
mimy her ol’ nigger never forgot, de longes’ day he eber 
libed, how much she wanted to give him his freedom. An’ 
tell Sinar, my wife, how her ol’ man tried to die like a 


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Chrischun gwine to glory. An’ tell her, too, when de time 
will come fur her to cross de Jordan water she ’ll fin’ her ol’ 
man waitin’ to meet her on de odder side, wid a cabin snug 
an’ ready, all happy an’ safe in de promis’ Ian’.” 

Here, as if the closing words had suggested it to his mind, 
the poor old fellow lifted up his powerful and melodious 
voice and began singing a simple negro hymn, which, with 
a plaintive melody, had for its burden the following words : 

An’ I hope to gain de promis’ Ian’, 

Halle — hallelujah ! 

An’ I hope to gain de promis’ Ian’, 

Yes, Ido! 

Glory, glory, halle — hallelujah ! 

Glory, glory! Yes, I do! 

The death-pile kindled, the smoke of its burning in dense 
black volumes enveloped the victim. Linked in a horrible 
circle around it, whooping and yelling and singing their 
W’ar-songs, leaping and whirling and dancing their war- 
dance, clashing together their hatchets and war-clubs, wav- 
ing above them the scalps of their foemen, went the barba- 
rians merry as demons. And strong and clear, with never a 
quaver, still was heard above the confusion the hymning 
voice of the smoke-hid victim. But louder and higher than 
all, it is coming, ringing from far like the blast of a trumpet 
— a voice so stern, abrupt, and imperious that forthwith ceases 
the fiendish fandango. Up dashes a warrior mounted on 
horseback, leaps to the ground, and now at the death-pile 
seizes the fagots and scatters them broadcast, stamping upon 
them with moccasined feet to smother the flames till all is 
extinguished. 

The savages — erst so active and lively — taken aback at his 
sudden appearance, now stood sullenly huddled together, 
somewhat apart in the gloom of the dingle. The fire extin- 
guished, the chieftain — for such his dress and bearing bo- 


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spoke him — wrathfully, scornfully, sternly rebuked them 
for their unmanly and barbarous treatment of a defenseless 
man and a captive. 

In the course of his experience as trader and agent among 
the Indians, Captain Reynolds had picked up quite a smat- 
tering of several Indian tongues, which now enabled him to 
understand perfectly wliat the chief was saying. Even had 
he not been possessed of this knowledge, he could have read- 
ily followed the drift of the speaker’s words by noting his 
gestures, looks, and the tones of his voice, so distinct and 
forcible were they, and so pointed, with meaning. 

The appearance of this man was prepossessing in the high- 
est degree, displaying as it did every requisite of mind and 
body that can ennoble and dignify manly beauty. He stood 
at the summit of his prime, his form erect and symmetrical, 
though somewhat stouter than is usually to be found in men 
of his race. His bearing was graceful, lofty, and command- 
ing ; his eye eagle-like in its unflinching brightness ; his face, 
in its European regularity of feature and clearness of out- 
line, eminently handsome, showing in its lines the energy 
and intelligence of a great mind, true to itself and to the 
best impulses of human nature. He w^as dressed in the pe- 
culiar and picturesque costume of his people, made magnifi- 
cent by fineness of material and the richness of decoration. 
Besides the usual Indian weapons, all of polished steel and 
silver-mounted, he w^ore a handsomely hilted English broad- 
sword, though less as an ornament than as a badge of rank, 
or mark of distinction. 

Word having reached him that Black Thunder and his 
party had fallen behind the line of march, and to what 
bloody-minded intent their whoops and yells, heard in that 
direction, plainly enough attested, the chief, prompt to the 
call of humanity, had galloped back, as just described, to 
arrest and rebuke a proceeding so inhuman and so unwar- 


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rior-like. His rebuke ended, he turned to take a look at 
the prisoner whom he had rescued from the flames, but of 
■whom he had as yet seen nothing, the smoke at the moment 
of his coming up still hovering heavily over the death- 
pile. 

The Big Black Brave with a Bushy Head still stood 
bound to the tree, yet without the mark or even the smell 
of fire upon his person, excepting a slight singeing of his 
fleecy locks and bear-skin cap, not to mention a smart water- 
ing at the eyes, the efiect of the smoke. Ah — smoke! I 
find that I have unwittingly made an important omission, 
for w^hich I ow^e you an apology, kind and sympathetic read- 
er. I should have told you that a heavy shower of rain 
had fallen but a few hours before the kindling of the death- 
pile, which, as needs must, had left the brush-wood in better 
condition for heavy smoking than for lively combustion. 
Had I mentioned this circumstance in its proper place, I 
should have spared your tender sensibilities somewhat by 
giving you something contingent to catch at as suggestive 
of possible intervention. But to return. 

The instant the chief, with a sweep of his eagle-like eye, 
had scanned those huge, grotesque proportions, he threw up 
his hand with a gesture of surprise, and a look of recogni- 
tion lighted up his handsome face. Whereupon, as if need- 
ing nothing more to tell him who had been the prime mover 
in the day’s outrage, and the base motive that had led to its 
perpetration, he turned abruptly upon Black Thunder, 
w^here sullen and lowering his giantship stood with folded 
arms apart from the rest, and flung at him a rebuke so with- 
ering in its scorn, so burning in its generous indignation,^ 
that the big barbarian quailed from before it, daunted and 
abashed. Then, without further ado, the chief went, and 
cutting the thongs of buffalo-hide which bound the captive 
to the tree, set him at liberty, and with a w^ave of his hand 


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in the direction whence the American army was approach- 
ing, said in English, “ Go.” 

To be thus jerked back by the skirts, so to speak, from the 
open jaws of death by a single savage had proved more con- 
founding to the steadfast mind of Big Black Burl than when 
but a few minutes before he was dragged thither by twenty, 
insomuch that ever since the unexpected surcease of the 
fiendish frolic he had continued to stare about him in a state 
of bewilderment not unlike that twilight fog of thought and 
sense through wEich he was wont to pass from sound asleep 
to wide awake. But no sooner did he feel that he was foot- 
loose and hand-loose again than he was all his own collected 
self once more, and to the welcome gesture and friendly 
word thus answered : “ I yi, my larky ! Much obleeged to 
you fur puttin’ out de fire, but smoke me ag’in ef you ketch 
me gwine ’way from dis holler widout Mars’ er Bushie,” 
giving a side-long roll of his big black thumb toward his 
young master. 

How much of this speech the chief really understood were 
hard to say ; but having heard it, he turned, and for a few 
moments earnestly regarded the young Kentuckian where, 
in delighted surprise at the unlooked-for turn their ugly ad- 
venture had taken, he had stood the while, and now, with 
the liveliest interest, w’as awaiting the upshot. Then, as if 
comprehending fully the circumstances of the case, the chief 
ordered Black Thunder to restore both prisoners their arms 
and accouterments, and whatever else had been taken from 
them — a command sullenly but promptly obeyed. All be- 
ing ready, their deliverer, speaking again in English, but 
this time addressing himself to the white man, said, “ Fol- 
low me ! ” and, setting his face westward, led the captives 
from the spot. To avoid the risk he must run of falling in 
with the American scouts or pickets, their guide ascended 
at once into the upland forest, through whose shadow^s lay 


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not only their most secret but shortest route. As they gained 
the summit of the steep overlooking the dingle where his - 
death-pile had been kindled, the Fighting Nigger — the 
Preaching Nigger fast asleep within him — made a moment- 
ary pause. Waving his bear-skin war-cap loftily over his 
head, he sent down to Black Thunder, triumphantly and 
defiantly, his old war-cry, so often heard in the stormy days 
of long-ago in the land of the Dark and Bloody Ground, 
now filling those Canadian wilds with gigantic echoes which, 
flying affrightedly hither and thither, for full three minutes 
thereafter kept hill-top saying to hill-top, dingle to dingle, 
“ I yi, you dogs ! ” 


Chapter XX. 

How Kumshakah Figured in the Light of the 
Setting Sun. 

T he red man foremost, the black man hindmost, and the 
white man between, silently, swiftly they wended their 
way through the mazes, green and brown, of the autumn- 
painted forest. “ What manner of man is this,” the young 
Kentuckian could not hut say to himself, “ at whose voice 
the fierce, unruly warriors of the wilderness stay their bar- 
barous hands, from before the glance 6f whose eye their 
doughtiest champions quail, and under whose hand the cap- 
tive goes forth again into life and freedom?” 

Having with his war-cry eased his heart in a measure of 
the surplus joy and triumph he felt at their deliverance. Big 
Black Burl could now content himself to go for a mile or 
more without speaking a word. He failed not, however, to 
steal from time to time a prying glance at their deliverer 
from over his master’s shoulder. At the first glance noth- 
ing in particular st?-uck his mind, excepting that he thought 
the red stranger was a wondrously handsome and gallant- 
looking man for ap Ipdian. At the second glance a fancy 
began to steal into his thoughts that at some time of his 
life he had had a dream in which he had seen such a form 
and face as that he now had before his eyes. At the third 
glance it began to dawn upon him that he had not only 
dreamed of seeing but really had seen that man before. At 
last, having fairly succeeded in cornering a dodging, skip- 
ping sprite of a recollection which he had been chasing 
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about ill his memory for the last ten minutes, Mish-mugwa, 
in open-eyed amazement, brought himself along-side Shekee- 
thepatee, to whose ear bending down he exclaimed in a big 
whisper, “Kumshy!” 

Reynolds started. A vague something of the sort had 
been flitting before his mind ever since the stranger’s sud- 
den appearance at the dismal scene in the dingle. During 
the many years that had come and gone since that eventful 
first of June, he and Burl had often talked of the good and 
brave young Indian warrior who had shown himself so gen- 
tle and true a friend to the forlorn little captive in his hour 
of peril and need. In brightest remembrance had they held 
him ever since, coupling every mention of his name with 
some expression of gratitude or admiration, or with the mu- 
tual remembrance of some pleasant incident of his sojourn 
among them. Yes, though changed from the bright-eyed, 
graceful youth they had known him, they felt in their hearts 
that their,* deliverer could be none other than their old friend 
Kumshakah. But who was Kumshakah? 

Without opening his lips to speak a word, or turning his 
head to glance behind him, silently, swiftly glided the In- 
dian on before them, straight against the setting sun. At 
length, late in the day, after traversing the forest for some 
miles, they came to the head of a quiet little dell which, 
scooped out smoothly from among the hills, descended with- 
out a curve to the valley of the Thames. Here the chief- 
tain halted, and pointing before him, his bright eyes turned 
now full and clear upon them, said in English, ‘^Your 
friends.” 

Looking in the direction pointed out, and running their 
eyes down a long vista made through the trees of the dell 
by a brook on its way to the main stream, our hunters spied 
the American army where, at the distance of a mile, it had 
halted to encamp for the night. The tents, already pitched 


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and all agleam in the low light of the sun, were scattered 
picturesquely about among the trees at the bottom of the 
dell, which then expanding like the flaring mouth of a bu- 
gle opened into the wider valley of the Thames. Setting 
the butt of his rifle on the ground and resting his hand 
upon the muzzle, the young Kentuckian now addressed the 
chieftain, not only speaking to him in his own language, but 
adopting the poetical and figurative style of expression pe- 
culiar to his people: 

“ This day many hands strong and cruel opened the doors 
of death to push us burning through ; but one hand strong- 
er than them all shut the doors and drew us back into the 
paths of the living. He has led us forth in safety from the 
midst of our deadly foes, and now bids us return in peace 
to our own people. We are glad; we are thankful. Who 
our deliverer is we know; our eyes, our ears, our hearts 
have told us already. Who should it be but Kumshakah, 
the savior of the boy Shekee-thepatee, the friend of the Big 
Black Brave, Mish-mugwa?” 

“Your eyes and your ears and your hearts have told you 
untruly,” replied the chief. “Nor yet have they wholly 
deceived you. I am not Kumshakah, but Kumshakah’s 
twin brother. More than twenty times has spring made 
green the forest since Kumshakah started out on his first 
war-path. But they who went with him returned without 
him, saying, ‘ Kumshakah has fallen in the land of the Dark 
and Bloody Ground under the hand of the Big Black Brave 
with a Bushy Head.’ Then went I out into the forest, 
wandering in lonely places, and mourning my much-loved 
brother. But before another moon had turned her face full 
and broad upon the earth, Kumshakah returned, and there 
was a light in his eye brighter than that of the warrior’s 
triumph. The story he told us you know ; what we felt in 
our hearts you can guess. Who Mish-mugwa was I knew 


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full well. I had seen him in battle; had heard his war- 
cry. Afterward I saw him from where I lay in ambush, 
his life at my mercy, but I lifted not my hand against him, 
for he was the friend of my brother, and they had smoked 
the peace-pipe together.” 

‘‘Then, where is Kumshakah,” inquired Keynolds, “since 
our deliverer be not he whom we loved as a brother?” 

“ Twenty times has autumn made yellow the forest,” re- 
plied the chieftain, “since the Great Spirit called and Kum- 
shakah answered and went his way. And before the going 
down of another sun the Great Spirit shall call again, when 
Kumshakah’s brother shall answer and go his way like- 
wise.” Then, with a look of grateful interest, the chief in- 
quired ; “ But tell me, is the mother of Shekee-thepatee still 
alive? or have the swift years borne her to the dwelling of 
Wahcoudah? ” 

“She is still alive,” was the reply; “and with pleasant 
days has Wahcoudah blessed her since that morning when 
she bid him depart in peace whose goodness had restored to 
her the only child of her love, the chief joy of her heart. 
When we return and tell her that we have seen the brother 
of Kumshakah, and that, like Kumshakah, he is the pro- 
tector of the helpless, the deliverer of the captive, the tid- 
ings "will fill her with thankfulness and gladness. Then 
shall she say, ‘ But who is Kumshakah’s brother, that mighty 
man whom the bold red warriors of the wilderness hold in 
such respect and awe, and at w'hose bidding they speed them 
to obey?’ What shall our answer be — will the brother of 
Kumshakah tell us?” 

“ Since you loved my brother,” rejoined the chief, “ and 
it had pleased you had I been he, then call me Kumshakah, 
for w^hat I have done I have done in his name and with 
his heart, and the time is close at hand when it wdll matter 
but little by what name I am known.” The Indian said 
12 


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this with a melancholy smile. Then, with the light of the 
setting sun now thrown about him broad and strong, he thus 
proceeded with his answer : “ Then may you tell your peo- 
ple that Kumshakah is dust, and truly. For though we 
part as friends to-day, to-morrow we meet as foes ; and my 
heart is telling me that the might of the Shemanols shall 
prevail, that the blood-red banner of the English Manakee 
shall be laid in the dust, and that the ambushed army of the 
red man shall be broken and scattered. Then farew^ell to 
Kumshakah ! When the battle is ended, search for him on 
the bloody war-plain, and you shall find him where he lies 
among the slain. If, then, you would know more of the 
fallen warrior, ask the sun that shines w'ho Kumshakah is, 
and he shall answer : ‘A shadow on the ground ; ’ ask the 
winds that blow, and they shall answ^er : ‘An echo in the 
woods ; ’ ask the rains that fall, and they shall answer : ‘ The 
dust that feeds the oak and the willow.’ If you would know 
who Kumshakah 'was, ask his people, who weep that he is 
fallen, and they shall answer : ‘ One who loved us, and for 
our sake laid down his life;’ ask his foes, who rejoice that 
he is fallen, and they shall answer : ‘ One who hated us, and 
warred against us to the death.’ And should the children 
of the days hereafter rise and ask their sires who Kumsha- 
kah was, then shall the tongue of tradition make ans'W’er: 
‘ One who lived and died, endeavored and failed.’ If such, 
then, be his story, why should more than this be known of 
Kumshakah? Let him sleep. Wahcoudah’s will be done. 

“White man, let us look another w^ay.” 

Then, with the weird light of prophecy in his eye, impart- 
ing to its wonted brightness a mystical dimness, the Indian 
chief thus ended : 

“White man, listen! Up from the opening east, where 
the birds of morning are singing, the rising sun is leading 
your people over the earth to riches, to power, and to glory. 


Burl. 


179 


Down into the closing west, where the birds of evening are 
silent, the setting sun is leading my people — whither, who 
shall say? But to become extinct, and be numbered with 
the things forgotten. But who shall say that the same 
Great Spirit who dwells in the rising sun, bidding his white 
children go forth and toil upon the earth, dwells not also 
in the setting sun, bidding his red children come and rest in 
the happy hunting-grounds? It is even so, and it is well. 
Let Wahcoudah rule. Rule, great AVahcoudah!” 

Here paused the Indian for a moment, his eagle-eye un- 
flinchingly bent on the setting sun. “Yes, it is even so, and 
it is well,” he repeated. “Let great AVahcoudah’s will be 
done. White brother, farewell! and you, my black brother, 
both farewell!” 

In silence each took, in his turn, the proffered hand, Rey- 
nolds too profoundly moved at the Indian’s words to speak, 
and Burl, overawed at his manner and appearance, which, 
while he was speaking, had risen into the solemn and sub- 
lime. Without another word, he was gone. They followed 
him with their eyes as swiftly, duskily he went gliding away 
through the glimmering shades of evening. As he reached 
the brink of the hill on w'hich they stood, a parting beam 
from the setting sun — sent streaming, broad and bright and 
red, through a vista in the forest — poured round him for an 
instant a flood of melancholy glory. A moment more, and 
the Indian chief had vanished — plunged in the twilight 
depths of the valley beyond. 

That night, as the young Kentuckian lay sleeping in his 
tent, still through his dreams he saw that face — a face it 
was to leave an image on the eye. And still through his 
dreams he heard that voice — a voice it was to leave an 
echo in the ear. The face reflecting ever the light of the 
setting sun; the voice repeating ever, “Rule, great Wah- 
coudah!” 


Chapter XXL 

How THE Glory of His Race Figured in His 
Setting. 

T he following day was the fifth of October, 1813, whose 
sun beheld the memorable Battle of the Thames, when, 
for the last time in the regions of the North, the Lion and 
the Eagle met in fight. 

The final retreat had begun at Fort Malden, a strongly 
fortified post on the shores of Lake St. Clair, at the mouth 
of the Thames, where an efiectual stand might have been 
made against the farther advance of the now victorious 
Americans. Such was the opinion of Tecumseh, and on 
learning that his white ally had resolved to destroy and 
abandon the fort to the intent of withdrawing still farther, 
even to the central regions of Canada, he had boldly op- 
posed the movement as unnecessary, and being unheeded, 
had scornfully denounced it to his ally’s very face as un- 
warrior-like, dishonorable, contemptible. Had the civilized 
general hearkened to the savage leader, the result of the war 
in that quarter, if not more successful to the British cause, 
would certainly have been far less dishonorable to the Brit- 
ish name. During the retreat, the heroic sachem had ear- 
nestly and repeatedly recommended a sudden and deter- 
mined face-about on their pursuers, and only the night 
before the decisive battle he had urged a backward move- 
ment, that, under screen of the darkness, they might surprise 
the sleeping i»nemy in his camp, and overpower him before 
anv combined resistance could be made. But all in vain. 
(180) 


B URL. 


181 


His white ally was but a fat poltroon — “ a big, fat, cowardly 
dog,” to use Tecumseh’s own comparison, “ that carries his 
tail curled fiercely over his back till danger threatens, then 
drops it between his legs and slinks away.” 

Throughout the war, this Proctor had displayed far more 
enterprise and address as a plunderer than as a fighter, and 
noAv his sole end and aim was the conveying of his precious 
booty and his precious body as speedily as possible to some 
place of security before he should be overtaken. But by 
means of this very booty with which in his greediness he had 
overloaded himself, and the keeping of which he had far 
more at heart than the maintaining of his own or his coun- 
try’s honor, he was fated in the end to overwhelm himself 
with ruin and disgrace, since, by the unwieldy clog thus laid 
upon his movements, he had doubled his risk of being over- 
. taken ; and, with such a general, to be overtaken is to be 
defeated ; and to be defeated, ruined. 

At last, after having pursued his heavy, blundering fiight 
far up the Thames to a place called Willow Marsh, near 
Moravian Town, and finding that the American van was 
pressing close upon his rear, the British general was pre- 
vailed upon by Tecumseh and his own officers to face about 
and give the enemy battle. His ground was well chosen. 
Parallel with the river and separated from it by a narrow 
strip of firm land, over which ran the beaten route, there 
lay a swamp of considerable extent which, besides being 
densely covered with other wet land growth, was thickly 
sprinkled over with willows, whence its name, “Willow 
Marsh.” Across this isthmus Proctor hastily threw his reg- 
iment of about nine hundred regulars, while Tecumseh, with 
his brigade of about two thousand warriors, ambushed him- 
self in the fastness of the swamp. On this occasion, as had 
he, indeed, on every other occasion of the kind, the Indian 
leader displayed a degree of generalship which stands with- 


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out parallel in the annals of savage warfare. Pivoting his 
brigade on the right of the English regiment, he stretched 
it out in a long line, inclined curvingly forward, with the 
intent of suddenly unmasking and swinging it round upon 
the enemy’s flank, should he in a body attempt to force the 
passage of the isthmus. 

About the middle of the afl^^ernoon the Americans came 
marching up in full force and in orderly array. Inferring 
at once, from the features of the ground and from the little 
that was visible of the enemy, what the English and Indian 
line of battle must be. General Harrison promptly deter- 
mined upon his plan of attack. The Kentucky regiment 
of mounted riflemen, one thousand strong, commanded by 
Colonel Johnson, he ordered to open the engagement by fall- 
ing upon the Indian brigade where he knew it must be lying 
concealed in the swamp. His two companies of United 
States regulars, with a regiment of volunteer infantry, he 
sent forward to make a charge on the British regulars where, 
with their muskets and bayonets gleaming in the yellow 
autumn sunlight, they were seen extended in a long scarlet 
line from river to swamp. The general himself would hold 
a reserve of fifteen hundred men with which to cooperate as 
occasion should direct. 

The Americans advanced to the attack with great spirit, 
and were received with equal spirit by the Indian wing of 
the enemy, and with a steady concert of action unprecedented 
in Indian warfare. But hardly had the Kentuckians sent 
forth their first volley when Proctor, too tender of his pre- 
cious body even to strike a single blow for his precious booty, 
to say nothing of his precious honor, turned his back square 
on the foe and, followed by a small escort of horse, galloped 
ingloriously from the field, never drawing bridle till he had 
gained the shelter of Fort Chatham, many miles farther up 
the Thames. Thus hastily deserted by their general, the 


Burl. 


183 


regulars, who otherwise had doubtless behaved with the 
wonted gallantry of brave Englishmen, threw down their 
arms with scarcely a show of resistance and begged for quar- 
ter. The white wing of the enemy thus lopped off at the 
first blow, the two regiments — the only part of the Ameri- 
can army actually engaged in the contest — now concentrated 
upon the red wing, where it still lay concealed within its 
swampy covert. Up to this moment the Kentucky regi- 
iment of mounted riflemen had made several ineffectual 
attempts to dislodge and drive the Indians from their strong- 
hold, of whom nothing as yet had been seen but a long, 
curved line of rifle-smoke which, curling upward from among 
the willows and hovering in small blue clouds above the 
heads of the ambushed savages, served to trace their order 
of array. 

Meanwhile, the clarion voice of the Indian leader had 
been heard, in tones of encouragement, exhortation, and 
command to his unseen warriors, rising high and clear above 
the din of battle. Now, on a sudden, it rang out stern, ab- 
rupt, imperious, like the voice of a trumpet sounding a des- 
perate charge. 

When he found himself deserted by his white ally — the 
strong hand under which he and his people had trusted to 
return to the land of their fathers — then did the heroic 
sachem feel that he w^as fighting the last battle of a hopeless 
cause. But too proud to survive a failure so vast — the 
blasted hopes of his life, the ruined schemes of his ambition — 
he determined to die then and there, and die, too, such a death 
as should shed over the very failure an undying glory. To 
this intent he would order a general charge, disdaining the 
further shelter of his stronghold and meeting the enemy in 
the open field. True, such a movement would be utterly at 
variance with the usages of Indian warfare. True, also, the 
enemy to be charged was flushed with present success, not 


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to mention his being the stronger and made audacious from 
having been the pursuer in the chase just ended. But such 
a movement, from the fact of its being without example and 
without hope, w'ould make his skill as a leader the more ap- 
parent, his death as a warrior the more certain and glorious. 
Yes, he would order a general charge. 

Then, to the amazement of the Americans, the heretofore 
invisible foe burst suddenly forth from his ambush, and 
now, in a long, well-ordered line, was coming impetuously 
on to meet them uu-Indian-like in the open field. Headed 
by their intrepid leader, on they came amain, brandishing 
their tomahawks and war-clubs and filling the woods with 
their appalling yells and war-whoops. But now, well out of 
the bushy skirts of the swamp and able to look about them, 
they discovered wdiat before their chief had designedly con- 
cealed from them — that the English regulars had all been 
captured, and that they were no longer supported by their 
white allies. The lengthened array of dusky warriors was 
observed to pause, to falter, then, at the next discharge of bul- 
lets sent point-blank at them, to break in pieces, dissolving at 
once into a mere disorderly rabble. All order lost, lost was 
all mutual confidence and all courage. Back, with a howl 
of disappointment and dismay, they quailed from before the 
advancing foe, and as suddenly as they had appeared, van- 
ished again in the somber shadows of the marsh. 

Hastily rallying about three hundred of his bravest fol- 
lowers, conspicuous among whom towered the gigantic bulk 
of Black Thunder, and inspiring them to heroism by his 
own example, again was Tecumseh pressing impetuously 
forward, his tomahawk brandished aloft and his trumpet- 
like voice still ringing high and clear above the rude uproar ; 
nor paused he till with terrible energy he had hewn his 
w^ay into the thick of the enemy’s ranks. Now, with toma- 
hawk uplifted, he had planted himself directly confronting 


B URL. 


185 


Colonel J ohnson, who, mounted on a white horse, was press- 
ing forward, though desperately wounded, to encounter the 
Indian chief, his pistol already leveled. The next instant, 
and all in that self-same instant, the white horse dropped 
dead under his wounded rider, the pistol went off, a terrible 
cry was heard, a wild leap into the air was seen, and hushed 
was the clarion voice of command. The red warriors paused, 
gazed wildly about them, as were they listening to catch 
their leader’s voice ; then, hearing it no more, with a howl 
of dismay and despair, which found an echo in a howl as 
drear from their fellows crouched in the swamp, they turned 
and fled. The Battle of the Thames was over. The might 
of the Shemanols had prevailed, the blood-red banner of 
the English Manakee had been laid in the dust, and the 
ambushed army of the red man broken and scattered. 
The heroic, the high-minded, the hapless Tecumseh was 
fallen. 

Throughout the action, though he had gallantly headed 
his company in every charge. Captain Keynolds had not 
fired a single shot, lest, by some unhappy chance, Kumsha- 
kah, the preserver of his life, might fall by his hand. When 
the battle was over and he had assisted in bearing his wound- 
ed colonel to camp, he hunted up Burl and, bidding him 
follow, returned in the course of an hour to the battle-ground, 
to look once more on his face who at sunset had said, “ Let 
him sleep; Wahcoudah’s will be done.” He had repeated 
to his old servant what their deliverer had told them of 
himself. But having taken in the evidence of his own senses 
and already drawn therefrom his own unalterable conclu- 
sions, Big Black Burl could not be made to understand how 
a man who looked like Kumshakah, talked like Kumsha- 
kah, acted like Kumshakah, called himself Kumshakah, 
could be any other than the Kumshakah whom he had met 
as a foe, entertained as a guest, parted with as a friend, and 


186 


Burl, 


ever afterward loved as a brother. Such was his conviction 
then, and such it remained through life. 

On reaching the spot where he had seen the hero fall, 
Reynolds found a number of his brother soldiers already 
gathered there, and still others coming up, all eager either 
for the first time to behold or to get a nearer view of the re- 
nowned Indian chieftain. With the dead of both friend and 
foe strewn thick around him, there he lay, his handsome face 
still lighted up with a glorious and triumphant smile, as if 
the magnanimous soul that so long had animated those no- 
ble features had, in rising, stamped it there to tell his ene- 
mies that, though fallen, he had fallen and conquered. Be- 
side him, and in striking contrast with his symmetrical and 
stately figure, his pleasing and majestic aspect, lay extend- 
ed the huge bulk and scowled the terrible visage of Black 
Thunder. 

“Pore, pore Kumshy!” exclaimed Burl, in a pitying 
voice. 

“Yes, poor Kumshakah, and poor Tecumseh, too!” re- 
joined his master, with solemn and profound emotion. 

“What’s dat you say. Mars’ er Bushie?” inquired Burl 
quickly and with a puzzled look. 

Slowly young Reynolds repeated what he had said, and 
then added: “What we now see before us. Burl, is all that 
is left of the great Tecumseh ! ” 

Had this specter of the. slain chief risen suddenly from 
his body and stood confronting him, the effect on the mind 
of Big Black Burl could hardly have been more startling 
than that caused by this revelation. Three huge backward 
strides he made, then motionless stood for many moments, 
one foot a step behind the other, his hands uplifted and out- 
spread, his eyes wide open, staring fixedly with mingled 
amazement, incredulity, and awe, at the lifeless body before 
him. 


Burl, 


187 


In he Toonger days, when the passion for martial glory 
bomed strong within him, the Fighting Xigger, as we have 
se«*, had been in the habit, when blowing his own trumpet, 
of running his warlike exploits into the febnlons and im- 
possible — not firom any direet design of deceiving his hear- 
ers, bat merely that he might make his theme as interest- 
ing and WMiderfnl to them as it was to himself; bnt that 
the honor of meeting and overcoming in battle so renowned 
a warrior as Tecomseh, of whom the world in which he 
lived, the great wild Westy was so foil, should ever have 
beoi his, seemed to Mish-mngwa more fobnlons than even 
hfi own fobles, and to which all his other achievements, 
granting them to have been as prodigious as he was wont 
to boast th^n, dwarf into unmentionable insignificance in 
compar^n. The reader most not foil to bear in mind 
that, jnst here, we are viewing Tecomseh through the eyes 
of Borlman Reynolds. 

At length, having taken in the evidence of his sight, 
bat as if sdll needing that of his touch to set his doubts at 
rest and eemvince him that what he saw there was in verity 
a bodilT form. Burl stole cautiously up again and softly 
laid his hand on the breast of the ftdlen hero. No sooner 
had he done so than with a warm, tender rush came throng- 
ing back into his memory all those recollections which, 
stretching their bri^t train firom that glorious first of June 
to that beautifiil Sabbath in the wilderness, he had ever 
viewed as b^ng the happiest of his life. But when, linked 
with these, came back to his mind the thrilling events of 
yesterday, suddenly and to the surprise of all present, ex- 
cepting his young master, the huge creature, with that live- 
liness of feeling peculiar to his race, burst into a blubber- 
ing exploskm of tender, pitying, grateful feeling, and cried 
Eke a duhL 

*^Pore, pore Kumshy! De good Lord hab pity on yo* 


188 


B URL. 


soul an’ gib you a mansion, ef it ’s only a wigwam, some- 
whar in his kingdom. You ’s a pore heathen, we know, but 
shorely somewhar in his kingdom he ’ll make room fur de 
like uf you.” And with this simple oration over Tecum- 
seh’s^ body. Big Black Burl turned weeping away and fol- 
lowed his sorroAving master from the field, the stoniness and 
blindness of Calvinism gone from his creed forever. 

That night, long after the somber autumn sun had set, 
and the somber autumn moon had risen, and the victorious 
foe had laid him doAvn to sleep in his distant tent, silent as 
the shadows through which they glided, they returned to 
the battle-ground, the red warriors of the wilderness, to pay 
the last tribute of respect to their fallen chieftain. Beside 
a fallen oak that lay along the verge of the marsh — there, 
on the spot Avhere he had made his last stand for the wild 
people, the wild land, the wild independence he had loved 
more than his life — they dug a grave, and in it laid the 
mortal remains of the immortal Tecumseh. Then they went 
their way, their Avild hearts breaking Avith grief and despair, 
and he was left to that solitude of silence and shadow Avhich, 
like a halloAving spell inspiring reverence and aAA^e in the 
minds of the living, ever lingers round the resting-places of 
the illustrious dead. But for many a year thereafter they 
made it their wont to return thither, as on pilgrimage to a 
holy shrine, once more to look Avith reverent eyes on the 
green mound where he lay, and Avith reverent hands keep 
back the willoAvs and Avild roses groAving too thick around 
it, that, unshadowed, it might be ever open to the loving, 
pitying light of the setting sun. 

Thus he died, this Indian Hannibal; thus he set, this 
Glory of his Eace. Let him sleep! Wahcoudah’s will be 
done! Eule, great Wahcoudah! 

The End. 

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